


rush (into my heart)

by GoldenTruth813



Category: Voltron: Legendary Defender
Genre: Alien Biology, Alternate Universe - College/University, Alternate Universe - Everyone Lives/Nobody Dies, Alternate Universe - Fraternity, Blow Jobs, Body Image, Body Worship, Come Eating, Dirty Talk, Emotional Hurt/Comfort, First Time, Flirting, Frat Boy Keith, Frat Boy Shiro (Voltron), Friendship, Gay Disaster Keith (Voltron), Getting Together, Half-Galra Keith (Voltron), Heartbeats, Humor, Intimacy, Keith has stripes, M/M, Masturbation, Mates, Meet-Cute, Mutual Pining, Nesting, Nicknames, Non-Penetrative Sex, Oblivious Keith (Voltron), Porn with Feelings, Praise Kink, Purring Keith (Voltron), Second-Hand Embarrassment, Service Top Shiro (Voltron), Sexual Tension, Shiro is a fucking show off, Touch-Starved Keith (Voltron), Wet & Messy, competitive boys, gratuitous Shiro thirst, minor kinkade/regris, slick
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2021-02-12
Updated: 2021-02-12
Packaged: 2021-03-12 01:28:48
Rating: Explicit
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 3
Words: 44,896
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/29377122
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/GoldenTruth813/pseuds/GoldenTruth813
Summary: College is a hard transition for anyone, harder still when you’re the only half Galra, half human on campus. Just as things seem to be hitting a low point for Keith he walks into a gorgeous frat boy with a heart of gold, and their collision changes the trajectory of his life forever.Or, the fic where Keith rushes a fraternity, obliterates an obstacle course, finally feels comfortable in his own skin and finds a mate (but not necessarily in that order).
Relationships: Keith/Shiro (Voltron)
Comments: 206
Kudos: 332
Collections: Sheithlentines 2021





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

  * For [thecryoftheseagulls](https://archiveofourown.org/users/thecryoftheseagulls/gifts).



> This was written for cryofseagulls for Sheithlentines. You requested some kind of emotional hurt/comfort with body insecurity and body worship and a million ideas spiraled in my brain, but then when I saw you love frat aus and galra keith I got an idea I couldn’t let go of. I really wanted to delve into that fun frat au universe but with aliens while also using Keith’s mixed heritage. I really hope you enjoy!
> 
> Also so much love to starlitruns for being my cheerleading throughout the writing process and lole for being an absolutely stellar beta and cheerleader. Couldn't have made this happen without you guys!
> 
> Side note: While I did a lot of research about how pledging a fraternity works I also took a lot of liberties for plot reasons haha

“Dad have you seen my favorite hat?” Keith yells, leaning over the banister.

His dad is in the entryway below, one of his knees on top of Keith’s suitcase as he tries to zip it closed. He’s been fighting with the zipper for close to half an hour, and it hasn’t budged even an eighth of an inch. Earlier, Keith suggested they just duct tape it shut but his dad had balked at the idea, positive he could out stubborn a broken zipper. 

“Which is your favorite hat?” his dad yells back, grunting as he adds a second knee. 

Keith is privately sure that the volume of clothing inside the suitcase is not the issue here but there’s no point in telling his dad. He’s as stubborn as a mule.

“The red one.”

“You have so many red ones, Keith.”

“The red one dad. From the space museum in New York. You got it for me when—”

“Here you go sweetheart,” his mom says, appearing on the upper landing like some kind of stealth ninja with Keith’s hat. She kisses the side of his cheek and deposits it on the top of his head. 

Immediately Keith tugs it off, flipping it around so the cap is backwards, some of his stray fringe sticking out of the little hole.

“Where did you find it?” 

“In the garage closet under your skateboard,” Krolia replied gently. 

“How the fuck did it get there?” Keith asks, scratching his jaw. He definitely doesn’t remember leaving it out there.

“Put a dollar in the fuck jar,” his dad yells from downstairs.

Keith groans, reaching for his wallet. He might be nineteen but apparently the damn Kogane swear jar is a permanent fixture in his life. His mom is faster, passing him a folded up one dollar bill between her fingers, before he has a chance to get his own money out.

“Don’t tell your dad,” she whispers.

“Your dad can hear you both, you traitors. I’m downstairs not on the moon.”

His mom laughs, pressing the money into his hand. “Well, I’m pretty sure your only son is going to be as far away as the moon.”

“I’m only going to California, mom.”

“Exactly, _California._ That’s an entire plane ride away. My baby, my only baby is going away to school in California. I’m going to wither up and die at home from empty nest syndrome.”

Keith snorts. “Give it two months and you’ll be turning my bedroom into a craft room.”

“I’m shocked, Keith,” she gasps. “I would wait at least three months.”

Keith can’t help it, he smiles. “Very funny, mom.”

“I’m so glad you still think I’m funny. I gotta have something to lure you back home during school breaks.”

“If your mom’s humor doesn’t work, I’ll make extra pie,” his dad yells, sounding strangely out of breath from down below. It’s hard to tell what he’s doing from the second story but it looks like he’s got a pair of pliers and for some reason the caulking gun. Keith can’t fathom what the fuck his dad needs a caulking gun for right now, but asking is pointless.

“I mean it. Promise you’ll call. I even figured out how to use the video calling. Me and your dad practiced. It was actually quite _fun_.” 

“Ewww,” Keith groans. Something about her tone reminds Keith about the time he’d accidentally walked in on his parents last year and then promptly walked outside, shoved his face into the snow and screamed. He’d only stopped when the old man who lived next door had asked if he needed him to call anyone. 

“Your father and I were fully clothed, Keith. You have a very dirty mind.”

“La la la,” Keith yells, clapping his hands over his ears as he runs down the stairs. This is absolutely not a conversation he is willing to have, and he will not let this be his parting memory.

Unlike most of the people he knew in high school, his parents are still married. And they still act like they’re in the honeymoon phase, over twenty years after they got married. Which is, well;sweet, but also kind of gross, because they’re constantly flirting and kissing and while Keith hopes he finds someone someday who he likes as much as his parents like each other he doesn’t always want to _see_ it. Or hear any innuendos about it. 

He loves his parents so much but he is also desperate as fuck to have some privacy. 

“I got it!” His dad yells, jumping up from the ground and clapping his hands together. 

“Wow,” Keith says, shocked his dad actually did it.

“I knew you could do it, sweetheart,” his mom says, jogging down the stairs and around Keith to give his dad a congratulatory kiss. When she pulls back, his dad looks a little bashful, his stubborn bravado dulled into something like awe. Keith supposes they’re not _that_ gross.

He’s going to miss them. A pang laces through his chest as the reality of going a thousand miles away from the only people who’ve ever understood him hits.

“Hey, kiddo. You okay?” his dad asks.

Keith nods, straightening his shoulders. This was his choice, his dream really. He’s been looking forward to the freedom of college and getting some more independence for years. If his parents had their way, Keith would live at home forever and while the offer of lifelong free food and laundry service is appealing, there’s an itch under Keith’s skin that’s only grown with time. He needs to figure out who he is, and he can’t do that here.

His parents, amazing as they are, aren’t like him. Or they are, but they aren’t. 

No one is like Keith.

With a Galran mom and a human dad, Keith is the first of his kind. Literally. 

Apparently his birth had been splashed across the front of every newspaper in America. His mom and dad—the first known interspecies couple to bear a child—had attracted attention from all over the globe when one of the nurses at the hospital had sold his photo to a tabloid. The nurse lost their job and their license, but the damage was done.

The way his dad tells it, the media storm following his birth had been damn near unbearable. Somehow the entire world felt entitled to details about Keith’s family, and Keith in particular. The media had been intent on using Keith as proof the war was truly over. Unfortunately, in a bid to assure the world that Galra and humans could live together in peace—with Keith as the proof—they’d violated his parents privacy in every way. 

Keith was only a baby so he doesn’t remember jack shit but his mom does, and her eyes still flare with anger when she talks about it. The lack of privacy, the invasive questions, the reporters always at their home. The final straw came when a reporter had followed his mom into a public bathroom when she’d tried to change Keith’s diaper, insisting the world deserved to know whether Keith had a Galran tail hidden in his diaper. 

His parents, in order to protect Keith and shield him from a lifetime in the spotlight, had picked up from their apartment in the city and fucked off to the middle of nowhere in New Mexico to ensure Keith was never subject to ridicule and observation.

He knows the sacrifices his parents made to try and give him a happy, safe childhood. And they succeeded. Really, they did. Keith grew up with his bare feet always covered in the red desert dirt, pockets full of rocks and he made friends with snakes and lizards. In many ways his childhood was idyllic. 

But all children grow up.

The older Keith got, the more aware he became that there was no one else like him. He still remembers his first day of kindergarten—one of those core memories that never leave you, even when you actively try to forget—and the way it’d felt to sit in his dad’s pick up truck on that long drive home. The hot August afternoon air had blown in through the cracked windows since the AC was still broken and the radio played nothing but static. Keith naively asked why no one else’s mommy was purple and why he was the only kid with stripes on his arms.

“You’re special,” his dad had said, ruffling Keith’s hair like it was the truth.

_Special_ , Keith would soon learn, was code for different.

Different- wasn’t always bad. But as a kid it was hard. As a kid no one wanted to be different.

When he unpacked his school lunches the other kids had peanut butter and jelly and pudding cups and Keith had hand crafted lunches with notes from his dad and leftovers from the night before. His dad didn’t believe in waste and his mom said there was no such thing as _lunch_ food, just food. Until that day Keith had never even seen a lunchable or a fruit snack. 

“Ew, what is that?” the kids had asked, pointing at Keith’s lunch.

When he’d left for school that morning he’d felt proud of his lunch, so excited to make friends. Now he wasn’t so sure. With everyone else staring at him holding their packaged food and their plastic lunch boxes- from tv shows Keith had never even heard of-, Keith felt like an alien for the first time in his life.

“A Vrarken tamale,” Keith answered, with the innocence only a child could.

As a kid, you think everything your family does is normal until you’re shoved into the real world and the horrors of public school. Keith didn’t know he ate ‘weird’ until everyone else told him so. Apparently no one else ate fusion Galra Tex-Mex. No one else’s mom brought spiced Gnuthriz bread to the bake sales and no one else’s dad had fucked an alien.

The kids weren’t necessarily horrible to Keith—most of the time anyway—they were just kids. And kids are nosy as fuck and honest to a fault. It didn’t take long for Keith to pick up on the fact that his family wasn’t like everyone else’s. 

Keith wasn’t ashamed of his mixed heritage, but it was exhausting being the center of attention solely for his genetic makeup. On the national day of mourning, the teachers always asked him to stand up and recite the United Nations pledge of international peace. At holidays, they called on Keith first to share what traditions his family had. _Because you’re different than us_ went unspoken. They probably thought they were being helpful, but instead it singled Keith out, over and over again.

With every step people took to proactively make sure Keith didn’t feel excluded, they signaled to him how much he would never belong without effort.

In elementary school his heritage was a novelty. In middle school it was a target on his back for teasing. In high school it became something entirely unexpected—a status symbol. Keith became someone people wanted to collect. It was like being some kind of fucking politically correct badge of honor. The stupid football team offered him a place on first string before they saw him play. The debate team insisted he would be a perfect fit; because apparently being of mixed heritage made Keith even tempered. His counselor looked so excited that she might faint, when she told Keith in sophmore year that listing his mixed heritage on his college applications would guarantee him admittance anywhere.

_Different._

Keith was different, different, different.

Early on Keith learned not to get too attached. He was sixteen when he let his boyfriend fuck him, and he’d rolled over after and said _wow, so that’s what alien sex is like_. Keith had punched him in the fucking nose. His parents had threatened to call the cops when he got home smelling of beer, tear streaks on his face and with bloody knuckles. He never did tell them what happened. Keith had been holding in the truth for so long, he hardly knew what it was like to let it out.

His parents had given up everything to give Keith a good life, and the last thing he ever wanted was to let them know that no matter how far they tried to go, people would still be people.

It’s not that Keith has ever been ashamed of his heritage. Still, it’d been a hard pill to swallow to realize that while his mom understood his Galra side and his dad his human one, there was never going to be anyone who understood him entirely. Keith was nothing but a bunch of puzzle pieces and he felt like he spent his life navigating which pieces to let people see.

Eventually, Keith got tired of being the only half galra kid in town, of being the only blended family in the entire city. 

For all the progression society has made in the last decade, and all the acceptance of Galran culture after the last war, society still tends to be fairly segregated. 

By nature Galra are pack people, usually living in tight knit communities. Outside of the big cities, finding Galra are pretty rare—their pull to form kinship with others like them is too strong to allow them to wander alone. Unlike their intergalactic ancestors who were nomadic—often traveling from one space station or planet to another to gather resources—most progressive Galra are decidedly non-nomadic. His mom is an anomaly that way. Keith asked her once why she never felt the need to find a new clan on Earth. She’d simply kissed his head and whispered, _you and your dad are my clan_.

It’s just one more way Keith doesn’t feel fully Galra. He’s never felt a pull to have a clan, to mate or to bond. The way his mom tells it, she felt unsettled until the moment she met his dad, and then she’d known. It all sounds a lot like soulmates, something Keith doesn’t believe in. He’d told his mom as much when he was sixteen and fresh off his breakup with his stupid ex. 

_We don’t have that word in Galra, sweetheart. But maybe it doesn’t matter what it’s called as long as you know how you feel_ , had been her response.

Keith knows how he feels.

Different.

He’s not sure there’s a person on this planet who would make Keith feel _settled_. Keith’s always been twitchy, always moved a lot and too been a little too loud and a little, well— _too much_. 

Too much Galra to fit in with the humans and too human looking to feel Galra. 

His mom is so beautiful with her purple skin and slanted ears and dark hair. His dad is handsome with strong features and a twang when he speaks. Keith is some sort of mix of both of them and while his parents like to say he got the best of both of them, sometimes Keith feels like a watered down version of someone else.

It’s why he needs to go away to college, to be on his own.

He doesn’t know how to figure out who he is, without inadvertently making his parents think he doesn’t like who they are.

His parents have it all together. His dad is a volunteer firefighter, and loved all over town. His mom is revered in her own way and runs women’s empowerment retreats bimonthly out in their family shack in the desert. Both of them have such a solid sense of self, Keith’s not sure how they ended up with him sometimes. 

“If we don’t leave right now we might miss Keith’s plane,” his dad says, bringing Keith smack back into the present.

“Shit,” his mom curses under her breath.

“Curse jar,” his dad chimes in.

“We can negotiate payment later,” his mom says, giving his dad’s ass a smack. Keith pointedly pretends he didn’t just witness their flirting. “Right now we need to go. Keith, baby, are you ready?”

Keith takes one last look around the entryway of the only home he’s ever really known, memorizing everything. The lines on the wall where his dad marked his height, the chunk of the stair banister that’s still missing from the time Keith was ten and tried to skateboard down the railing, and the array of family photos that line the long hallway. Everywhere he looks is a memory, a _happy_ memory.

This is his home.

A small part of Keith is absolutely fucking terrified. This is going to be the furthest he’s been from home without his parents.

He could stay. He could take classes at the community college in the next town, or even take a year off to find himself. His parents have made it clear that he’s always welcome here, and that no matter what he chooses to do they will support him. He could do a lot of things that wouldn’t require him to leave. Keith’s always been happy here, safe.

But there’s an itch under his skin and Keith’s not sure he wants to be safe anymore.

“Yeah,” Keith answers, taking a deep breath. “I’m ready.”

* * *

They do make it to the airport on time, barely. With twenty minutes to spare before his plane takes off, Keith’s yanking his suitcase out of the back of the pick up and trying to make swift goodbyes, when his dad ends up in tears. Keith’s never actually seen his dad cry which ends up making him cry. His mom, bless her, manages to calm them both down, but then when it comes time for a last hug from _her_ she won’t stop hugging him and starts to cry which sets his dad off again too. It takes so long for Keith to calm them to calm down and promise to call at least once a week that he very nearly misses his plane. 

Through sheer luck and the nicest TSA agent in existence, Keith is able to haul ass through check in and security. He’s the last person to board the plane, literally, and he can feel the eyes of the other passengers on his back as he breathlessly stumbles down the aisle to find his seat, and pretends that not everyone is watching him. Keith fucking hates attention.

He’s more thankful than ever that his parent’s splurged on the assigned seating so Keith doesn’t need to worry about being stuck in the worst seat on the plane next to the engine. It only takes a minute for him to find his seat in the center of the plane, just in front of the wings. He stores his backpack in the overhead compartment, awkwardly climbing over the two people already seated as he slides into his seat. It’s a window view, just in front of the expansive wings, and a little flutter of excitement fills Keith as the flight attendants begin to make their announcements. 

Keith _loves_ flying.

He’s only been on a plane a few times. Always for family vacations. The first time he’d been five, his feet not yet reaching the ground. He’d been less concerned with the actual flying and more concerned with the array of sweets his parents brought to keep him occupied. He was ten the next time and definitely more interested in the science behind how the plane took off than the candy bar he knew his mom had hidden in her purse for later. Each time after was just as exhilarating as the last. There are things Keith doesn’t care for, like the overcrowded interior of the jet and the lack of legroom and everyone breathing the same air. All of those things are overshadowed by what he does love—the swoop in his stomach as the plane takes off, the sight of the ground disappearing beneath him and the euphoria of realizing they’re in the fucking air above the clouds.

The jet engines rumble to life as Keith puts his ear buds in, tilting his head towards the window and watching as the earth disappears beneath them.

At some point he must have drifted off—exhausted from his inability to sleep the night before. One minute he’s watching the familiar New Mexico landscape disappear and the next someone is tapping his arm to let him know to prepare for landing. 

By the time the plane lands, the passengers are allowed to disembark and he’s collected his luggage, Keith is hungry enough to eat his own arm. If only he’d listened to his dad when he’d urged Keith to eat this morning.

A quick glance at his phone lets him know he’s got all of ten minutes before his bus to campus leaves, leaving him approximately zero minutes to track down food. He settles for snagging a coke and a bag of chex mix from the vending machine—both of which he shoves into his backpack—before taking off across the airport at a run to make sure he doesn’t miss his bus. He doesn’t. 

The bus ride to campus is infinitely less enjoyable than the plane ride and takes nearly as fucking long. Keith hates the bus.

Resolving to ignore the guy behind him loudly chewing gum, Keith pops in his ear buds and retrieves his snacks from his backpack. Tipping his head onto the large window, he zones out as he watches the landscape change from cement ramps and green directional signs to side streets. Everything is different from the shape of the houses to the array of billboards and liquor stores. The further they drive the more it changes , the crowded buildings and cement city scape transforms into something green—hillsides and parks and trees everywhere. It’s nothing like home and Keith appreciates its beauty while already feeling a pang for what he left behind.

He absolutely refuses to get homesick already and attempts to smother the feeling with handfuls of chex mix and his not quite cold enough bottle of coke. It’s empty calories that are going to leave Keith ravenous in an hour but it works for now, filling the hole in his stomach. 

The feeling of homesickness momentarily vanishes when the bus comes up over the hill and Keith catches sight of the horizon dotted with palm trees, clean blue skies and the most beautiful thing Keith has ever seen, the ocean. 

He can see the ocean. It’s breathtaking in its expanse—the blue ocean and even bluer sky meeting, making it nearly impossible to tell where one ends and the other begins.

“Wow,” Keith whispers, pulling his ear buds out and sitting up straighter. 

Impossibly, it’s even more beautiful than the photos online. 

It’s strange to realize he’s moving somewhere he’s never actually been in person, but then again not everyone can afford to just fly out to tour every single potential college. His parents had offered to bring him before he accepted, but Keith didn’t want them dipping into their savings just so he could walk around campus before making his choice. Especially since Keith knew the moment he got the acceptance letter than he was coming here.

There were other colleges who’d offered him scholarships and half a dozen acceptance letters still in the desk drawer of his old bedroom. But none of them had offered him what Altea Tech had— California weather. Keith can privately admit that maybe one should not choose a college based on location alone, but every other school that Keith had gotten into was either so close to his parents that they might’ve driven out to surprise him on the weekends, or back east. One look at a campus full of snow had made Keith wither up and die inside. Keith has always been a child of the sun. Whether it is part of growing up in the desert or his Galra side, there’s nothing Keith hates more in the world than being cold.

Southern California, with its projected two hundred and eighty four days a year of sunshine and it’s miles and miles of coastline, had called to Keith’s soul. They’d also been the only college not to mention his _diverse_ biology in his acceptance letter. One school had told him they were overjoyed to have the world’s first half Galra attending and Keith had burnt the letter on the stove.

Altea Tech was Keith’s shot at freedom—his chance to be just _Keith_.

Outside of New York, it’s also the state with the highest population of Galra. A big enough population that Keith being half Galra shouldn’t register on anyone’s radar. Or at least, he hopes not. There’s enough Galra and humans here that Keith’s mixed heritage shouldn’t make him stand out the way it might’ve anywhere less diverse, but as far as Keith knows half Galra are still pretty rare. For all the advancements in society since Keith’s birth, interspecies mating is apparently still not very common. Or at least, it’s what Keith assumes based on his own disastrous dating history.

After his first time with his asshole ex-boyfriend, Keith had hoped being treated like some kind of fetish was a one off situation. Even making that assumption though, it’d taken Keith a while to get over it, and then feel safe enough to try dating anyone again. It wasn’t until senior year rolled around and a cute guy asked him to the homecoming dance that he figured _what the fuck_. He was almost out of school and it’d been well over a year since he’d dated anyone. Keith wasn’t exactly a school dance kind of guy, but there’d been something fun about being given a corsage and about being treated right. He was taken to dinner and laughed all night while they danced. It’d been perfect.

Until it wasn’t.

Until Keith let his guard down. 

Until the guy was pushing Keith up against the door of his sedan and whispering how gorgeous Keith was and Keith forgot to be careful. 

Keith let it get hot and heavy in the back of the guys stupid car. He was cute and sweet and while Keith wasn’t in love with him or anything, he was a teenage boy; equally horny and eager for someone to find him special. Things had been going just fine until the guy got a hand in Keith’s pants and had recoiled.

He’d been so fucking naïve— assuming it was his first time and he was panicking. He’d leaned forward, ready to ask if the guy was okay, when the guy grunted out _“You look human.”_

It was easy to connect the dots of everything he didn’t say. Keith did look human. Until you dug deeper. Until you saw the faint purple stripes that curled around his pale skin, or apparently got a hand on his dick which was decidedly not as human looking as the rest of him. 

Keith hadn’t let anyone else near his dick or his heart since.

He’s hopeful that college will be different. That a place with more Galra will make it easier to blend in. 

As the bus pulls into the lot, Keith gathers his trash and shoves his ear buds into his backpack as a sense of excitement overtakes him. He’s halfway towards the back of the bus and has to wait for other people to get off first, and then has to wait for the bus driver to get off and open the side hatch so he can get his luggage out. When the bus leaves, Keith’s the last one standing on the sidewalk, staring out at the palm tree filled horizon—the late afternoon sun casting an orange glow over everything.

Everything is going to be amazing.

* * *

Everything is not amazing.

It’s not _horrible_ , but it sure as fuck isn’t the perfect fresh start Keith assumed it would be.

The euphoria of being on his own dwindles quickly as Keith realizes how _lonely_ being on his own is. 

Back home he was never very social, but after a week of seeing no one but his roommate who apparently has a girlfriend and pretends Keith doesn’t exist, Keith is craving human interaction. Something far beyond busy class lectures and sitting alone in the cafeteria. 

There are a handful of freshmen meet and greets the first few weeks, all of which Keith attends. They do not prove to be the avenue to friendship Keith hopes. 

The few other Galra freshmen immediately form a group on day one. Keith understands why they all flock to each other of course. Galra crave community and kinship, more so than their human counterparts. It’s not necessarily born out of a desire to not associate with the humans, but a biological need to have a clan. There’s a safety in finding people like you, and according to his mom—a deep peace, as a Galra, to know you are not alone. 

Galra are social, tactile and most of all deeply expressive. With their clan anyway. A Galra without one is like a boat without an anchor, or that’s what his mom says anyway. Keith tries to make small talk with them, and while none of them are unkind, he can see in their eyes that they don’t think he’s one of them. All of his Galra features are hidden beneath his clothes— too human looking to be immediately accepted by the Galra. He could tell them of course. He could roll up the sleeves of his sweatshirt and say _”Do you see my stripes, I’m like you.”_

He doesn’t.

For the first time in his life, people don’t look at him and know who he is. Sure he could just _tell_ them, but Keith’s intensely private by nature and he will be damned if he has to reveal his biology to get people to accept him. He doesn’t want to have to tell every single person he meets that he’s only half human. Strangers aren’t entitled to the details of Keith’s life.

Except if he doesn’t, then somehow it feels like lying. 

With the stripes on his arms covered up, Keith passes as human seamlessly. 

_Human passing._

The thought triggers a memory Keith hasn’t thought about in years. 

Growing up, Keith’s parents always took him on vacation in the summers. Sometimes to big cities for cultural exposure and museums. Their favorite though, was taking Keith to different national parks. Back when Keith was thirteen they’d been camping—a full month in the redwoods. Their second day there, a Galra couple with a kid Keith’s age had set up in the camp spot next to them. They’d hit it off with his mom immediately, and by the end of the first week they were sharing a single campfire and making s’mores together. Keith would fall asleep in his tent listening to his parents laugh around the fire. In the mornings he and the other kid would take off for hours to throw sticks in the river and explore.

It was the first time Keith had felt like he had a friend. A real friend. Someone who got what it was like to have an alien parent, and who knew what it felt like to be going through a Galran puberty and accidentally start purring for no fucking reason.

On the last day there, Keith had gathered up his courage and gone to say goodbye—his address written on a folded piece of paper.

_“We could stay in touch,”_ he’d whispered.

The other boy had cocked his head, his large ears twitching. “Why?”

Keith had been so shocked by the question he hadn’t thought to filter his response. 

“We’re friends aren’t we? We’re…alike?”

There’d been nothing harsh in his tone, which had made his next words all the harder to bear. “We could never be alike. You have passing privilege. You’re not really Galra. You’re human.”

It’d taken all of Keith’s resolve not to cry. He never told his parents. Why would he? It would’ve ended up making his mom or his dad—or maybe both—feel guilty. Keith never wanted that. It wasn’t their fault that their love had created someone nobody else knew what to do with.

On the long drive home, his mom had turned down the radio and whispered, “They were nice, weren’t they? His mom gave me their phone number if you’d like to keep in touch—have a friend.”

“I didn’t really like him,” Keith lied, ignoring the silent conversation his parents tried to have with their eyebrows.

Keith had pretended to be asleep after that, hiding his tears under his ninja turtle blanket.

The memory leaves Keith wrong footed, standing there in the middle of hundreds of other freshmen, unsure where exactly he’s supposed to belong.

By the time Keith resolves himself to just try and meet someone, anyone, just so he doesn’t feel so alone; it feels as if everyone has already paired off into little friendship groups. It reminds Keith of the time he missed the first week of kindergarten and by the time he got there, everyone already had lunch buddies and people to share their stickers with. He’s always felt just a little out of step with his peers and despite his every hope, college is not that different.

Everyone is kind, but beneath the friendliness is an undercurrent of separation. Maybe it’s really there, maybe it’s all Keith. All he knows is that he feels forced to choose between feeling human or Galra. There’s no space carved for someone like him.

It reaffirms the little voice in the back of Keith’s mind that reminds him he won’t ever quite fit in.

After that he throws himself into his coursework. It’s not as if there isn’t enough there to distract him. For some reason, past Keith thought it was a good idea to start the semester with fifteen credits including principles of statistics, earth science, introduction to philosophy, college composition and first year experience. The last is the class Keith was least excited about, but it rapidly becomes his favorite. Not because it’s easy—Keith likes the challenge of his other coursework—but rather because of the professor.

Ulaz is one of the only Galra professors on campus, but that’s not why Keith likes him so much. There’s just something about him as a person that appeals to Keith. He’s kind, but in a way that feels as if he genuinely cares about all twenty freshmen taking the class. It’s a breath of fresh air compared to the intensity of his other professors who aren’t unkind, but jump into the material with constant reminders that none of them are in high school anymore and that their ability to succeed relies on them and them alone. One of the professors even gives an entire test on the fucking syllabus, the second day of class.

There are tests in Ulaz’s class too, but they’re things like _personal strength assessments_ and _MBTI types and study habits_.

As much as he enjoys the class, at the end of the day it’s still just one class.

As the weeks go on, sometimes Keith swears the professor is watching him closer than the other students. Possibly because Keith is the only one who keeps putting off answering the college student inventory assessment— unwilling to divulge his mixed species heritage. He’s not sure why. If any of his professors might understand the pitfalls that come with being the only mixed kid on campus, it would probably be Ulaz. Still, Keith finds himself holding back.

After class, when other students stay to chat with Ulaz or follow him to his office Keith retreats to the library or his room instead. When other students regularly go to Ulaz’s office to hang out and raid the free snacks he keeps there, Keith keeps walking.

All in all, Keith is doing an excellent job of flying under the radar. He’s passing all of his classes, established a routine of going to eat at the exact time his roommate brings his girlfriend over, and figured out the best times to study in the library when the least amount of people are there. Thereby diminishing the risk of awkward small talk with people who don’t actually wanna be his friend.

The precarious balance Keith’s crafted threatens to crumble when Ulaz announces every student is to meet with him in his office, _one on one_. As much as Keith likes the class and Ulaz, he’s done everything he can to avoid being put in the position where he has to talk about himself. A feat, which is apparently now going to come to an end. 

Eager to put the meeting off as long as possible, Keith makes sure he’s the very last student scheduled. It’s not a big difference, but it gives him an extra week and a half to try and mentally rehearse the type of conversations he thinks they might have. If Keith were closer with any of his classmates he could just casually go up to one of them before or after class and ask what the meeting was like or what kinds of things Ulaz asked. 

Keith is not close to them. Keith isn’t close to anyone.

The morning of Keith’s meeting, he’s so nervous he ends of bombing his stupid psych quiz which doesn’t help his mood. He ends up staying late to try and talk to the professor about possible make up work, since Keith’s not about to let one shitty quiz ruin his GPA. He leaves with an extra credit assignment worth enough to bolster the D he got on the exam, but it cost him enough time that Keith ends up missing the time slot for his meal plan. 

Disgruntled and out of sorts, he uses the last one dollar he has to buy a snickers from a vending machine. He justifies the poor meal choice with the knowledge that his dad isn’t there to lecture him on eating sugar on an empty stomach and that a snickers at least has peanuts which makes it at least slightly meal adjacent. 

Keith then does the least responsible thing possible and instead of studying or finishing his calculus homework before his afternoon appointment, he goes back to his room and takes a nap. He wakes up at ten to four which gives him all of ten minutes to roll out of bed and haul ass all the way across campus, leaving him with no choice but to literally run.

By some miracle—or just his time on the track team in high school—Keith ends up outside Professor Ulaz’s office at 4:04 which, as far as Keith is concerned, isn’t so late that he’s crossed the line into being rude. He pauses outside the door, giving himself a good thirty seconds to run a hand through his hair which he forgot to brush today- and try to catch his breath. The longer Keith stands outside the door the worse the nervousness gets. After another minute Keith knocks on the door before slowly pushing it open, aware that if he stays in the hallway much longer he might lose his nerve.

Ulaz looks up from his computer, a smile crossing his face.

“Ah, Keith. You made it.”

“Yup,” Keith says, walking into the office as if walking to his death. It’s stupid, he knows. Ulaz is his favorite professor but _still_.

“I’m so glad. You can have a seat wherever you’d be most comfortable,” Ulaz says, closing his laptop. It draws Keith attention to the small rainbow sticker on the bottom corner of his laptop. 

“You can also stand if you’d prefer, though I promise you the chair is quite comfortable,” Ulaz tells him when Keith doesn’t move.

“Sitting’s fine,” Keith mumbles, scuffing his sneakers on the floor as he crosses the room—dropping down into the chair on the opposite side of Ulaz’s large desk. It’s a swivel chair and Keith wastes no time in beginning to spin from side to side, far too much nervous energy to remain still. 

“How are you enjoying college, Keith?”

“It’s fine.”

Ulaz nods, folding his large hands on top of the table. “And classes. Are those going well?”

“They’re fine.”

“That’s good. I know college can be a huge adjustment from high school, both academically and socially. What about outside of class? How are you enjoying dorm life?”

Keith thinks of his tiny bed. He thinks about the stupid little window in his room that looks out onto a cement quad. Then he thinks about his room at home with a giant bed and the window he has that looks out into the dessert. It makes his chest hurt.

“It’s fine,” Keith lies, clenching his jaw.

Ulaz hums his agreement. Keith’s probably not fooling him.

“Many first year students find the transition to college life quite jarring. The independence is exciting, but it can also be isolating and overwhelming. It’s quite alright to feel both; even good things can be scary or hard.”

Keith doesn’t say anything. He has no idea what to say. _I’m so homesick I cry at night. College isn’t what I thought it would be. There’s no one here like me. I’m lonely._ All of them feel too real to say out loud. Especially to someone he barely knows. 

“Are you hungry or thirsty?” Ulaz asks, unexpectedly changing the subject. “I always keep snacks in here. You’re welcome to some now, or in the future. My office is always open.”

The snickers suddenly seems hours ago and Keith finds himself turning his attention towards the shelf on the wall instead of saying he’s fine.

“Help yourself,” Ulaz tells him.

Chewing on his bottom lip, Keith does—spinning his chair around then hopping out of it to go to the bookshelf. There’s one covered in rows of water bottles and Keith grabs one, twisting the top off and chugging down all sixteen ounces without breathing. If Ulaz is watching him he says nothing, for which Keith is grateful. He scans the baskets of snacks, opting for a bag of nuts and a nutri-grain bar. He grabs another water too then returns to his chair, hunching down into it before spinning to face Ulaz.

He’s aware of Ulaz’s attention, but Keith’s too nervous to remember all the things his parents taught him about being polite and instead lets his attention wander to the shelves behind his desk. They’re jam packed full of books but that’s not what catches Keith attention. 

What catches his attention is the framed photo on the top shelf of Ulaz with his arm around another Galra—a very familiar landscape behind him.

“You’ve been to Red River?” Keith blurts.

Ulaz tilts his head back to look at the photo, something in his features softening. “Oh yes, one of the most beautiful camping spots I’ve ever been to. That photo was taken, gosh must be five years ago now. My partner Kolivan and I went there to celebrate our anniversary.”

Some of the tightness in Keith’s chest loosens. 

“I grew up in New Mexico. My parents took me there almost every summer.”

“Did they now? How wonderful. I didn’t realize you were from New Mexico. It’s such a beautiful state. Whenever I retire, Kolivan wishes to move out there. The Organ Mountains remind him of Daibazaal. It’s been so many years but I think he’s still homesick.”

Keith squeezes the nutri-grain bar so hard he smashes it inside the wrapper. “I think my mom is homesick for Daibazaal too sometimes. She doesn’t say it. I don’t think she ever wanted me or my dad to think what she had with us on Earth wasn’t enough, but sometimes I’d find her outside watching the stars and there’d be a look in her eyes like she was searching for something.”

Ulaz’s facial expression doesn’t change, but his ears give away his obvious surprise. The ears always give it away. It’s how he always knows when his mom is lying.

“Your mother is Galra?”

Keith nods, twisting the wrapper in his hand. “My mom is Galra. My dad’s human. I’m just…half.”

“Velkhut vhox dhel,” Ulaz says, tilting his head down in a brief nod.

Tears prickle at the corner of his eyes at the familiar greeting. Keith’s Galra is not great, the pronunciations always feel awkward on his tongue. But he understands it perfectly. Those three words especially he would know even in his sleep. He’s heard his mom say it half a dozen times—an honorific of greeting and respect you pay when you meet another Galra. There’s no exact English translation. 

His mom likes to tease his dad that English is inferior to the beauty of the Galran language and in this instance Keith agrees. It’s only three words but the meaning is heavy—it’s a recognition of the bond you share, a sign of respect and honor. For the Galra who lost so much when they settled on Earth, it is the highest form of respect one Galra may pay another. In a world where they are the minority, it’s a way of acknowledging their shared history and culture. It says _I see you. Our hearts are alike._

No one has ever said it to Keith.

“Velkhut vhox dhel,” Keith repeats, ignoring the insecurity he feels. He’s only ever spoken Galra with his parents.

“You honor me, Keith. Thank you,” Ulaz says.

Utterly embarrassed and emotional, Keith begins to cry. 

With a monumental amount of tact, Ulaz rises to retrieve a box of Kleenex from his desk then walks around to hand it to Keith, dropping down into the other chair so that they’re seated side by side.

“When I was a child on Daibazaal, my mother told me tears were a sign of being a warrior. Only those brave enough to feel, cried.”

“I don’t feel brave,” Keith mumbles, scrubbing the sleeve of his sweatshirt over his eyes.

“If I may be very candid, the very bravest people rarely feel their bravery.”

“You sound like my mom,” Keith sniffles.

“Then she must be very wise,” Ulaz says, in a tone so serious Keith can help but snort out a laugh.

Somehow it’s easier to talk after that. Not easy, because Keith’s never going to be someone who opens up to other people just like that, but _easier_.

Ulaz talks about his trip to Red River and Keith talks about his childhood in New Mexico—the wonder of growing up with the stars as his night light and the calmness he feels in the middle of the desert. Ulaz talks about becoming the first Galran professor in California and Keith talks about being the only half Galra in the entire town.

With every little bit of himself that Ulaz shares, Keith feels safe to share some of himself in turn. He hadn’t realized how much he was holding in, until he had a chance to let it out.

Keith talks until his throat goes dry, until Ulaz is offering him another bottle of water and his voice feels raw. He talks more than he’s talked in six weeks. The more he talks, the more he _says_. 

In true adult fashion, Ulaz is also able to read between the lines of what he can’t say.

“You are lonely,” Ulaz offers, no judgment in his tone.

Keith shrugs, the fight going out of him as the weight of the words hit him. He _is_ lonely. 

“I dunno if it’s like a human thing or a Galra thing,” Keith says, picking at the hole in his jeans.

“Does it matter?” Ulaz asks.

“Everyone else seems to think so,” Keith grumbles.

“The opinion of many does not outweigh the opinion of one. What you think of yourself matters more than what the world thinks of you, Keith. There were those who thought I should not have my job because I was Galra, and those who only wanted me because I was Galra. I chose to believe I got the job because I was the right fit. I am here because it’s where I want to be. You have the power to decide where you want to be, Keith. If someone does not make space for you, make it yourself.”

“That’s a lot easier said than done,” Keith sighs.

“I’ve seen your transcripts—honor roll, track and soccer team in high school, taking sixteen credits your first semester. You don’t strike me as a man who cares if things are easy, Keith.”

Keith sits up a little straighter at that. He’s not wrong. Keith’s always loved a challenge, but this always felt insurmountable. 

“Everything you need to succeed and be happy here is within you. But perhaps, you do not need to do it alone.”

His jaw tenses and he drops his head. “I’m not so good at that part.”

“I think you might be surprised at where friendship lies. Your next friend might be just around the corner,” Ulaz tells him.

“I dunno,” Keith shrugs, wanting it to be true, more than believing it.

“I can’t speak for everyone, but I think it’s both a very human and a very Galra thing to enjoy a sense of community. At our core, most of us do not want to be alone. That can be family, or friends that become family. It can be many people or just one.”

“My mom always said my dad and me were her clan. That we were all she needed.”

Ulaz hums. “What about you, Keith? What do you need?”

The question catches Keith off guard and he fiddles with the wrapper in his hand as he thinks. 

“I don’t know,” he answers quietly.

“That’s alright. You don’t have to know right this second, but it’s a good thing to think about. What would your future at college look like if you could set the course? What things do you need to be successful? To be happy?”

Keith inhales slowly, his head spinning. He spent so long doing everything he could to get into a good college assuming that would make a difference, he never really stopped to think about what he would do once he got here. 

“I don’t know,” Keith says, an echo of his previous answer.

“Think about it,” Ulaz says, in a tone that is so free of judgment or expectation, that Keith finds the fight bleeding out of him and he sags back into the chair.

As Keith’s meeting with Ulaz comes to an end, there’s a lightness in him that wasn’t there before. Talking to his professor had lessened some of the burdens Keith’s been carrying since he got to college. Sure, he knew he could’ve talked to his parents about his loneliness and fears, but every time his mom or dad called they were so filled with nervous anticipation—questions about whether Keith was eating enough and if he was settling in and making friends. They were so worried about him, that he never had the heart to let them know that maybe he wasn’t quite as alright as he was pretending to be. 

He hadn’t realized how much he was carrying until he’d had a space to let it out without fear making someone else sad. He hadn’t even realized how much he wanted to talk about not being okay until the door was opened to give the answers.

By the time he’s leaving Ulaz’s office, Keith’s mind is racing. Maybe Ulaz is right, maybe he does need to try again. The problem is, he doesn’t know how. Growing up he went to school with the same kids from the time he was five until he graduated and while he wasn’t close enough with any of them he’d had plenty of friendly acquaintances. But he hadn’t done anything to get those they’d simply manifested over time because when you lived in a smaller town, you didn’t really have the luxury of picking friends. There were people Keith liked and those he didn’t, but there was never anyone he felt close to besides his family.

Looking back, Keith can see some of that is likely because the second things got touchy or Keith was afraid someone might judge him, he tended to put up all his walls. Then again considering some of the assholes Keith knew, or dated, he feels pretty justified in worrying people had ulterior motives for wanting to get closer to him.

This isn’t like that though. He’s not back home. He’s also not a kid anymore, he’s eighteen now—nineteen next week. He’s basically a grown fucking man. 

He’s— _walking into a wall_.

“Fuck,” Keith curses, making impact with something hard and solid. His attempts to steady himself backfire and he ends up stumbling backward, crashing down onto the hard floor.

“Fuck,” he grunts again, his ass smarting as he shakes his head to figure out what the fuck just happened.

“Shit, are you okay?” Someone asks.

“Fucking fantastic,” Keith retorts, too disoriented to be polite. 

The only thing worse than realizing he was so lost in thought that he walked into a wall, is the knowledge that someone else was in the corridor and saw him. 

“You uh, you fell pretty hard,” the guy says, apparently not leaving.

It’s then that Keith drags his attention to the voice and two things become readily apparent. One, Keith did not walk into a wall he walked into a _man_. Two, the man is built like a fucking brick wall.

He’s absolutely fucking massive. Or maybe it’s just the perspective since Keith’s on the damn ground staring up at him. The guy is tall as fuck, with broad shoulders and he’s wearing what is possibly the stupidest outfit Keith’s ever seen. A pair of thin grey sweatpants, hideous Adidas slides with socks, an oversized sweatshirt with the sleeves cut off to show the man’s insanely thick arms, and the hem cut off into some sort of crop top that reveals a shoulder to waist ratio that Keith’s never seen outside of a comic book. Then there’s his stupid ass, bright purple snapback that he’s got on backwards—thick tufts of soft looking white hair sticking out of the front. Objectively the floof is kind of of like Donald Duck’s tail, and Keith absolutely hates himself for how much he fucking likes it. The entire outfit is _too_ much. It’s like some sort of hot boy, thirst trap, douchebag uniform.

Then there is his fucking face. Not only is his body insane, his face looks like something out of an art museum. He’s classically handsome, with a strong jawline and soft eyes and full lips. 

There’s no avoiding the glaring truth. He’s hot. He’s hot as fucking hell.

This guy is hands down the most attractive person Keith has ever laid eyes upon, and Keith’s entire body flushes with embarrassment as he realizes that not only did he fucking walk into him because he wasn’t paying attention, but then he was rude to him too. 

He’s probably an asshole. It’s not possible to be this beautiful could not be, but it still doesn’t lessen Keith’s shame—or the twinge in his ass which is also now cold as stone.

“Are you okay?” the guy asks, squatting down. As he does, he tugs on the sweats—the material pulling tight across his thick thighs. It’s far too much for Keith who is now eye level with hottie-mcfucking-hottie, and his massive dick print. Keith feels light fucking headed.

Hands down, the worst part about being gay is how weak Keith is for boys. He loves them. He loves the way they look and smell, the timber of their voices and the lines of their body. Most of the time it’s something Keith is able to keep under control because yeah maybe he’s a horny teenager, but he’s also a horny teenager with tact and a self preservation streak a mile wide.

At this precise moment Keith possesses neither the ability to be tactful nor behave like a normal human being. He’s not even sure he remembers how to breathe.

“Wow- you fell pretty hard didn’t you?” he says, half to himself and half to Keith. He reaches out, gently resting his right hand— metal, a prosthetic, Keith notices—on Keith’s forearm. It’s a gentle touch and Keith feels entirely caught off guard by the look on the guys face, which is ripe with concern.

How fucking dare he, Keith thinks.

A hot asshole Keith can handle. They’re a dime a dozen and Keith’s got a lifetime of experience giving himself a few minutes to relish in his less than innocent thoughts before pushing them aside. This guy however, is being _kind_. 

“M’fine,” Keith mumbles, embarrassed at the way his heart races just from the guy’s proximity. 

Hot guys are easy to handle. They’re like looking at a buffet— a lot of desserts that look amazing, but you know you don’t want them because even if they look good they all taste exactly the fucking same. No matter how fancy the outside looks the taste is always flat.

Nice guys though—they’re like a slice of his dad’s homemade apple pie—as good on the inside as the outside. It’s honestly a little bit life ruining.

“Should I call someone? Or take you to the health center? I can carry you if you don’t think you can walk.”

Carry him. _Carry him_. Keith fucking wheezes.

The worst part is the guy could. Keith’s heavier than he looks, but this guy looks strong as fuck. He could probably pick Keith up like he weighed nothing.

Shit, fucking, shit.

This is absolutely not a line of thought Keith needs to travel down.

“Nope, I’m good,” Keith asserts.

He’s always been an excellent liar, but the guy in front of him looks unconvinced—though whether he’s just acutely good at catching bullshit or Keith’s lost his touch he can’t be sure.

“How about you let me buy you a drink from the coffee cart downstairs?” the guy suggests, offering a rather disarming smile.

“Why?” Keith asks before he can stop himself.

The guy whistles. “You’re kind of prickly. I like you.”

Keith wheezes again, for entirely different reasons this time. Who just says things like that?

When Keith makes no indication of an answer, the guy pitches his weight forward, clasping Keith’s left hand in his and then abruptly tugging Keith up and off the floor. It’s so unexpected Keith sways on his feet, crashing forward into the guys chest. His big, firm chest. Keith bites down on his bottom lip to keep from whimpering because he smells like he just got out of the shower. Keith fucking loves clean boy smell.

“Easy there, freshmint.”

“Freshmint?” Keith asks, tilting his head up. He doesn’t step out of the guy’s hold. 

He should, but he doesn’t.

“Yeah, you know, because you’re a freshman.”

“Who says I’m a freshman?” Keith grumbles defensively, standing up just a little bit straighter.

The guy looks Keith up from head to toe in a way that makes Keith’s insides feel twisted up, then he grins—fucking _grins_. 

“Lucky guess.”

“I’ll be nineteen next week,” Keith blurts, unsure why he’s telling him.

“Well then, happy early birthday, freshmint,” he says, giving a little tug to one of the flyaway hairs near Keith’s neck.

It makes Keith feel warm in places he definitely shouldn’t, and he stumbles backwards out of the guys arms before he does something really embarrassing or really stupid—or both.

“You uh, you mentioned coffee,” Keith mumbles, shoving his hands into his pockets.

“Yes, I did. That mean you’re saying yes?” he asks, lips tugging up in the corner. “It’s the least I can do for knocking you down like that.”

Keith is ninety nine percent sure the fault lies entirely with him, but when a pretty boy takes the blame and offers to buy you coffee, you do not argue. Not even if he’s clearly out of your league, and you’re not sure what his ulterior motives are. He’s so handsome it almost hurts.

“Yeah. Yeah, I like coffee.”

“Fantastic,” he says, a blinding smile spreading across his face. 

Keith is so entirely done for.

On the way to the coffee kiosk downstairs, Keith somehow manages to trip over his own stupid feet while trying to walk onto the escalator. Of course, Keith’s prowess at all physical things, amazing balance and general athleticism has abandoned him in his time of need. Instead of looking cool or suave or even just like a normal fucking human, Keith is stumbling forward and letting out a stupid high pitched sound of surprise as he watches the moving stairs get closer and closer to his face.

The inevitable crash doesn’t come. Keith’s face never collides with stairs, and he doesn’t have to find out what happens when your hair gets stuck in an escalator.

He does however find out what happens when a man built like a brick wall grabs you and picks you up.

“Holy shit, freshmint. You okay?”

There are no words. There are literally no words Keith possesses that might help with his burning embarrassment. There’s no words that can make the throngs of students who just got out of class and are all standing around staring at the two weirdos blocking the escalator go away. And there are no words to properly encapsulate the way Keith’s entire body feels strung up tighter than a fucking bowstring, because hottie-mcfucking-hottie- whose name he now realizes he still doesn’t know- is holding him around the middle.

Not just like a polite little _let me help you balance_ hold either. No this guy is all in. He’s got his arms wrapped around Keith’s middle to prevent the crash—warm flesh fingers at his hip where his hoodie flew up. It’s maybe an inch of exposed skin, and just one finger making contact with Keith’s flesh, but it’s enough to make Keith feel acutely aware of every single inch of his own body.

He gives Keith a hearty tug to pull him backwards away from the escalator landing so the grumbling students around them can get by, an act which brings Keith’s entire back flush with the other guys front. 

“Hey, you okay?” he asks, pitching his voice low so no one else hears. 

It’s such a small thing, but does so much to show Keith the kind of guy he is.

“I swear I know how to walk,” Keith exhales, desperately trying to focus on anything except the firmness at his back. How in the fuck is this guy so _solid_? Keith has never been so aware of another person in his entire life—every inch of him vibrating from the contact. Especially the hands at his hips. Fuck, the hands. Big. His hands are so big.

It’s enough to make Keith hard. The last fucking thing Keith needs is to get hard right now. It would just be the cherry on the fucking top. If he gets a hard on right now, he’s absolutely dropping out of school and moving into a shed in the desert. Maybe he’ll adopt a wolf dog and take up charting conspiracy theories or look for aliens. All he knows is he won’t be able to show his face here ever again.

Luckily, he’s still flooded with embarrassment laced adrenaline, which stops his dick from fully appreciating the physical aspects of the situation he’s managed to get himself into.

“Sure you do,” the guy says, amusement lacing his tone.

“I do,” Keith grumbles.

The guy hums a vaguely disbelieving sound and Keith can’t even find it in himself to be offended by his obvious skepticism. So far, Keith’s zero for two in proving he does in fact know how to stay upright. 

The guy waits until the majority of students have passed them by before taking a step back. Immediately Keith feels the loss, snapping his mouth shut to stop from making a sound which would require him to invoke his dessert hermit plan.

“How about we go down at the same time,” he suggests.

“I don’t think two people can fit.”

“Oh, that sounds like a challenge,” he laughs, lifting up his left arm in clear invitation for Keith to squeeze up alongside him. 

“It really wasn’t,” Keith snorts, but he walks forward anyway.

Keith is a lot of things but stupid isn't one of them. He’s not about to miss a chance to be touched again, even if his heart is beating so fast it feels like it might just fly out of his chest.

“Closer,” he whispers, wrapping his left arm securely around Keith’s side. “And put your arm around my waist.”

“Okay,” Keith stutters, his brain momentarily short circuiting as his fingers connect with the warm flesh of the other man’s stomach. 

“Breathe.”

Again, Keith finds his normal inclination to be defensive absent. He’s definitely being teased, but there’s no malice in it. Everything from the tone of this guys voice to the smile on his face is open, warm and honest. 

The guy’s demeanor might be congenial enough for Keith not to be defensive, but it sure as fuck doesn’t stop him from being just a little bit embarrassed about his reaction to touching a hot guy.

“In, out—”

“Oh fuck you, I know how to breathe,” Keith snorts, unsure how one body can be so _firm_.

The guy throws his head back and laughs—his entire body heaving with his amusement. Beneath Keith’s fingers his belly rumbles and Keith holds on a little tighter. 

“You’re something, freshmint.”

“Keith, my name is Keith,” he says, unsure how long they’re just going to stand at the top of the escalator holding onto each other. Not that Keith is complaining. This is the most human contact he’s had in six weeks and it feels amazing. His mom told him once that Galra have a higher than normal need to be touched— something about touch receptors and dopamine and a long history of biological adaptations the Galra have gone though—especially since settling on Earth. He’s pretty sure there was a long talk somewhere once about the ill effects of touch starvation on Galra, but Keith had kind of tuned her out. One, because he is only half Galra and no one ever knew whether something would affect him or not; and two because his parents gave him plenty of hugs and touch starvation wasn’t something even remotely in his radar. 

It occurs to him now that maybe his mom was on to something though. Aside from being a little lonely, there has been a knot of tension in Keith’s chest recently. Already it feels looser just from a few minutes of physical contact with a fucking stranger.

He should probably ask his mom about that. Then again, that would involve admitting how lonely and not okay he was, and how he hadn't made any friends and wasn't getting any physical contact with anyone and...Yeah—he’s not gonna mention it. 

Besides, he feels fine now.

“Keith,” the other guy repeats, his tongue darting out and his lips curling as if he’s savoring the sound. “I like it.”

“Oh, uh, thanks,” Keith mumbles, his ears fucking burning.

“I’m Takashi,” he says, giving Keith’s hip a little squeeze to guide him towards the escalator. “But all my friends call me Shiro. You should definitely call me Shiro.”

There’s a lot to unpack in the way he says it, but Keith’s entire brain is currently preoccupied with the way Shiro hefts him just that little bit closer, so that they fit side by side on the escalator. There’s not very many brain cells left, and definitely not enough to try and decipher the nuances of social interactions and whether Shiro is flirting with him or just being _a flirt_. He’s probably like this with everyone, but Keith’s not capable of analyzing this interaction at the moment.

If he thought having Shiro against his back was a lot, it’s nothing compared to having Shiro’s arm wrapped around his waist so securely—his palm spread wide over the flat of Keith’s belly. Even through his sweatshirt he’s painfully aware of the warmth from Shiro’s body and the way he fits against the other boy’s side.

Halfway down the slow as fuck escalator, just as Keith’s regaining his barrings and reminding himself how normal humans act, Shiro inclines his head towards Keith. The hair sticking out of his snapback tickles the side of Keith’s head as Shiro whispers, “You alright?”

The most obvious thing to do would be to say _Yes, thank you, I’m fine._.

Instead, what comes out of Keith’s mouth is, “Mhmm, I like going down.”

It’s not until the words are out of his mouth that he realizes how it sounds. It’s entirely possible that Shiro won’t pick up on it, that he will just smile and nod and—

“Do you now, Keith?”

Somehow his name sounds even more wicked than when Shiro used a nickname for him. It’s just his fucking first name. Everyone who has ever met him uses it. But somehow it sounds _different_ when Shiro says it.

Never one to back down—or admit he’s wrong—Keith merely doubles down.

“Yup, love going down. Um, you know, on escalators.”

Shiro laughs again, his amusement sending ripples of reverberations through Keith’s body. He’s never met someone who laughed or smiled so much and it’s infectious. Keith should be running away screaming right now, instead he can feel his own laughter threatening to bubble out. He clamps it down as long as he can, which proves to be not very long at all. For the first time since he got to college, Keith finds himself laughing. Not a soft little chuckle, but a full body laugh. There’s a small flash of surprise on Shiro’s face, followed by unmistakable delight, as he too laughs harder. 

When they finally step off the escalator, several people turn to stare at them. Probably because they’re laughing so loud it’s echoing in the room, drawing the attention of everyone in the vicinity. Instead of being abashed by the attention, it makes Keith laugh even more. He turns to bury his face into the side of Shiro’s sweatshirt, trying and failing to stifle the sounds. He’s not even sure why they’re both still laughing as they stumble towards the corner.

“Hey, Keith, guess what?” Shiro says, tugging him into the small alcove where a vending machine used to be.

“What?”

“I like to go down too,” he says, tipping forward so his face is closer to Keith's, “but not on escalators.”

That sobers Keith up quickly, and he blinks wide eyed at Shiro—his mind full of lewd mental images of how Shiro might look like on his knees or how it might feel to thread his fingers through the tufts of hair that stick out of his hat.

Keith’s not entirely sure what the normal response would be in this situation. He’s not some innocent virgin, but everyone he was with before were idiot high school boys whose idea of flirting with Keith was offering to pay for the condoms. He’s never had someone _flirt_ with him like this. Shiro’s no fumbling high school boy, and the difference is not lost on Keith.

Whatever the appropriate response might be, it’s likely not what Keith blurts out.

“Do you only like going down?”

Shiro’s smile turns wicked as he shakes his head. “I’m versatile, freshmint. I like everything. Including coffee.”

“Right, coffee,” Keith coughs, resisting the urge to hide his face in his hands and scream. Keith has no fucking idea how to flirt. At least he thinks this is flirting. Maybe.

“How do you like your coffee, Keith?” he asks, his smile so innocent Keith wavers. Maybe he’s not flirting.

“I’m not picky,” Keith answers. 

“Do you like it big or small, Keith?” Shiro asks, eyes twinkling.

Again Keith’s not sure if this is legitimately a coffee question or something more. All he knows is his tongue feels too big for his mouth again. He eyes Shiro from head to toe, stuttering out a quiet, “Big.”

The answer seems to please Shiro who stands up just that little bit taller. If Keith’s not mistaken he even puffs out his chest.

Keith needs to get a grip on himself before he loses his mind.

“I gotta go to the bathroom,” he blurts.

“Okay, I’ll get us coffee.”

“Thanks,” Keith breathes, turning on his heels and practically running to the nearest bathroom.

Keith doesn’t actually need to piss and instead heads directly to the sink, turning on the cold water. He splashes it on his face, willing his stupid heart to calm the fuck down as he stares at his reflection. The water has made the hairs at the front of his face cling to his forehead in a way that makes him resemble a wet puppy, and his cheeks are all splotchy from blushing and Keith a goddamn fucking mess.

Sure, Shiro is handsome as fuck and kind and— who the fuck is Keith kidding, he likes him. He might not be the world’s most experienced guy, but he’s had enough to know that there’s something about Shiro beyond his pretty face that makes Keith feel fluttery inside.

Maybe Ulaz was right. Maybe Keith just needs to stop assuming the worst in people’s motivations and put himself out there. Shiro was definitely being flirty. Maybe he really means it. He did offer to buy Keith a coffee. And even if it doesn’t _mean_ something, the idea of knowing someone on campus besides his annoying roommate is nice.

Ulaz’s earlier words echo in his mind. _You never know where a new friend might be found._

It’s a nice thought. Keith could really use a friend.

Staring at his reflection in the mirror—hair sticking straight up in the back and definite dark circles under his eyes—he also decides he could use that coffee Shiro promised. To say Keith has not been sleeping well would be an understatement. It’s probably just the adjustment to sharing a room with someone for the first time, but he definitely needs caffeine to get through the day like he never has before. Back home, he’d drink the occasional cup of coffee with his parents because it tasted good. Here he guzzles down coffee with every meal—partly because it’s free with his meal plan, and partly because if he doesn’t ingest large amounts of it, he falls asleep in class.

At this point he doesn’t care what kind of coffee Shiro gets him, so long as it’s not decaf. 

The lure of the coffee, along with the prospect of another one of Shiro’s smiles directed towards him, is enough to help Keith get over his nervousness and leave the bathroom. He makes it outside and to the coffee cart that’s in the main quad, just in time to see Shiro step up to the counter. The other boy’s name is on the tip of his tongue when he stops dead in his tracks, watching as Shiro leans on the counter and says something that makes the girl working the cart blush.

A rock forms in Keith’s stomach as Shiro laughs, reaching out across the counter to brush a stray lock of hair behind the girl’s ear. 

Rooted to the spot, Keith can do nothing but stare in abject horror and shame. The girl in question is nothing short of stunning. Keith might be gay, gay, gay but he knows a pretty face when he sees one. This girl is a fucking goddess; shimmering white hair cascading down over her shoulders and fluttering down around her like some sort of ethereal princess. She even manages to make the apron she’s wearing look stylish—the ties at her neck and waist done up in intricate bows and the front of her apron adorned in an array of pastel enamel pins.

The more Shiro talks to her, the bigger her smile gets. It makes Keith want to run back into the bathroom and cry. He feels so fucking stupid.

He was an idiot for assuming anyone, especially someone who looks like Shiro, would have interest in Keith—a dorky freshman with no friends. Not that Keith’s not alright looking in his own way, but Shiro and the girl at the coffee cart make every other person on campus look like potatoes. Together they’re easily the two most attractive people Keith’s ever seen in his life.

Not even the prospect of coffee is enough to make Keith’s feet move, at least not in the direction of the coffee cart. He’s taken two steps backward when Shiro turns to glance over his shoulder and catches sight of him.

Keith feels like a deer caught in headlights as Shiro smiles, waving him over.

As if possessed by a spirit—or his mother, who taught Keith to never be rude—he finds himself walking directly towards Shiro and his mystery girl who is currently behind the cart presumably making their coffees.

“There you are,” Shiro says once he’s in earshot.

“Here I am,” Keith agrees, wondering how long he’s gonna have to pretend he doesn’t want to cry. 

“Perfect timing,” Shiro says, blissfully unaware of Keith’s inner turmoil. “Allura is just making our drinks.”

_Allura_. Even her name is pretty.

Unable to form any appropriate response, Keith settles for humming. There is a small furrow that forms between Shiro’s eyebrows, clearly noticing Keith’s abrupt shift in demeanor. Keith tries to smile but it feels a bit more like grimace. Shiro opens his mouth but whatever it is he means to say is cut short by Allura returning to the register, two cups of coffee in hand.

“Shiro, your order is ready,” she says. “And you must be Keith. How lovely to meet you.”

She smiles at Keith, and he deflates a little. She’s pretty and nice. Like Shiro. 

“Thank you, Allura. I’m sure it’ll be the most delicious cup of coffee I’ve ever tasted in my life.”

Allura shakes her head but she’s smiling still, obviously charmed. “Get out of here, Shirogane. I have customers.”

“Yes, ma’am,” he grins, dropping a few folded up dollar bills into the tip jar before grabbing their coffees. There are a handful of small tables and chairs scattered around the coffee cart, all of which are unsurprisingly taken. Shiro doesn’t seem fazed by the lack of seating and nods his head to the corner—leading Keith to a shady area under a tree where he immediately drops down to sit, then waits for Keith to follow.

Keith thinks about what he told himself earlier, that it’s okay if this isn’t anything more than a friendship. He’s disappointed as fuck, but he just met Shiro. He sure as hell isn’t entitled to making assumptions about what the other boy wants from him after knowing him for all of ten minutes.

“I meant what I said before, Allura makes amazing coffee,” Shiro tells him, passing him one of the paper cups.

Unsure how to respond, Keith sits down beside Shiro and takes the cup, popping off the lid to let it cool. There, hidden beneath the white plastic lid, is a swirly heart design in the top of Keith’s drink. He blows on it, watching wafts of steam float away before taking a tentative sip. The first drink is like heaven—almost as if someone is hugging his insides. On principal alone, Keith was ready to hate the drink just because he was feeling stupid but Shiro is right, it’s the best coffee he’s ever had. It’s strong without being bitter and milky without losing the coffee taste. There’s also the lightest hint of vanilla and cinnamon but not enough to take away from the coffee taste.

“Well?” Shiro asks expectantly.

“It’s really good,” Keith confesses.

“It is, right? Allura is amazing.”

The uncomfortable flutter in Keith’s chest returns and he drops his gaze back to his coffee, staring at the now broken heart design. “Your girlfriend is really pretty.”

“My _what_ ,” Shiro splutters, choking on his coffee. 

“Allura, your girlfriend,” Keith repeats, lifting his gaze to peek at Shiro.

“Oh my god, no. Allura is not my girlfriend,” Shiro says, his eyes comically wide. “She’s amazing, ten out of ten, but uh, Keith, I’m gay.”

“You’re…oh,” Keith exhales, embarrassment waging with relief. “I mean…well I thought at first but then when I saw you with Allura… Thought, you know, you might’ve been bi or pan or whatever.”

“Nope, definitely one hundred percent gay,” Shiro grins. “Allura is one of my closest friends. We met at freshman orientation and have been inseparable ever since”

_Friend._ Of course. Keith is a fucking idiot.

“Oh, cool. Um…me too. I’m gay too I mean,” Keith mumbles, unsure how it is that he feels so comfortable telling someone he just met things about himself.

“So, Keith—” but whatever it is Shiro plans to say is cut off by someone screaming his name from across the quad, loudly.

“What the fuck?” the same someone yells, running directly towards them like an angry goose. The guy is dressed not entirely unlike Shiro— sweats and a college t-shirt and a backwards snapback. Except, he doesn’t look anything like Shiro looks in the clothes.

“Hey, Matt,” Shiro says, looking unfazed by the death glare being sent his way.

“I repeat, what the fuck, Shirogane? You were supposed to meet me half an hour ago to hand out the flyers for rush week,” the guy— Matt— says, waving a thick stack of pamphlets in Shiro’s direction.

_Rush week_. So Shiro is a frat boy. Given the clothing, Keith probably shouldn’t be surprised, but he’s always assumed frat boys were more douchebag adjacent than nice guy.

“I got caught up, sorry,” Shiro tells the guy, though Keith notes that he doesn’t really look very sorry.

Matt snorts, turning his attention from Shiro to Matt. “Are you a freshman?”

“Why?” Keith asks, unsure why everyone who meets him today keeps asking.

“That’s a yes,” Matt sighs. “Do I need to remind you of the charter code, Shiro.”

“Calm down, Matt. I didn’t do anything. We’re simply enjoying a cup of coffee in a very public space,” Shiro says, rising from the ground and dusting stray bits of grass from his ass. Keith has no idea what the fuck either one of them are talking about, but it definitely involves him.

“Yeah well, you don’t have time to enjoy your coffee, asshole,” Matt grumbles, slamming a stack of pamphlets into Shiro’s chest. 

“Damn, you look like you need this even more than me,” Shiro says, passing his own coffee to Matt. 

“What is it?” Matt asks, looking skeptical but taking it from Shiro all the same.

“Dirty chai with coconut milk,” Shiro says. “Allura made it.”

“Oh, well in that case you’re forgiven for being late,” Matt says, letting out a sigh of obvious delight as he takes a sip. “Fuck this is good.”

“I know,” Shiro laughs. 

“Right, okay. Well then my job here is done. You know what to do, Shiro. Do not come home until all one hundred pamphlets have been handed out. You hear me?”

“Yes, sir, Mr. President, Sir.”

“Insolent pain in the ass,” Matt laughs. “But also, that has a nice ring to it. Damn, I’m impressive.”

“Yeah, yeah. Matt Holt: most impressive man on campus,” Shiro agrees.

“Glad we’re in agreement,” Matt says, sipping at the drink happily. “Now I have other business to attend to. Important presidential business.”

With that he walks away, leaving them alone once more.

“Damn. I wanted that chai,” Shiro says, shaking his head. “Oh well.”

“Wait, if you wanted it then why’d you give it away?” Keith asks.

“Huh? Oh, uh…Matt’s not very good at taking care of himself. He gets hyper focused on shit and forgets to eat and sleep. I can always get another one later. He needed it more than me.”

He says it so easily, as if it’s normal for friends to just look out for each other. Maybe it is. 

“I hate to do this, but I have to go or Matt will kill me if I don’t go pass these out,” Shiro says, shaking the stack of papers clutched in his metal fingers.

“Oh, yeah. Of course,” Keith says, tamping down his own disappointment.

“Listen, I don’t know how you feel about fraternities, but you should come,” Shiro tells him, plucking one of the fliers off the top and bending over to hand it to Keith.

_Altea Tech Rush Week_ is written in bold font on the top. Below it is a list of all the fraternities on campus, along with the street name for what Keith knows to be frat row and a date and time.

“I don’t know if I’m really a fraternity kind of guy,” Keith says.

“Hey, no pressure, but you might just surprise yourself if you show up. This is a meet and greet before rush week officially begins Monday. All the fraternities hang out on their front lawns, there will be free food, drinks, and some games. If you decide it’s not for you, you can walk away without pledging, but at least you’ll have had a fun afternoon.”

“How do you know I’ll have fun?”

“Well obviously, I will be there,” Shiro says, puffing out his chest. “Not that I’m encouraging you to specifically pledge my frat. That would be against charter rules, and also as a staunch supporter of the Greek system, I really do believe people should pledge the fraternity that fits them.”

Fraternities. Pledge. It might as well be a foreign language to Keith, whose sole knowledge of Greek life is what he’s seen in the movies.

Keith worries his bottom lip between his teeth. “I dunno, I’m not always great with a bunch of strangers.”

“I mean we’ve already established that I will be there and I’m not a stranger anymore. We got coffee together, so I feel like I can confidently say we’re friends now. Plus you’ve met Matt which means you will know two whole people.” He says, grinning. “Oh wait, three because Allura is coming too.”

It sounds nerve wracking as hell, but also kind of fun. Maybe, if Shiro will be there.

“I mean, I guess if you wanted me to go, I could check it out,” Keith says, unsure why his heart is suddenly hammering in his check.

“I really want you to come,” Shiro confirms. 

Keith tilts his face up towards Shiro who is towering above him. The sun is at just the right position in the sky and it casts a sunny glow around Shiro’s head—sunlight filtering through the wisps of hair that have fallen across his forehead. There’s an ease in his posture, a comfortable way he holds his body that makes Keith breath a little easier. Keith’s not very good with people he doesn’t know, but Shiro doesn’t feel like a stranger.

Standing there with his bold clothing and kind smile, he’s the brightest thing Keith’s seen since coming to California.

Keith wants to see him again—for friendship, or something more—he doesn’t care. He just knows Shiro is definitely someone he would like to know better.

“Okay, Shiro. I’ll come.”


	2. Chapter 2

Over the next three days Keith tries to avoid thinking about the not-a-party frat event he’s somehow agreed to attend. Which means he thinks about it every single second he’s not busy. 

He goes to all of his classes (and looks for a shock of white hair), he eats in the cafeteria (and looks for a shock of white hair). He also does a lot of extra studying in the library, instead of his dorm room (and maybe possibly gets distracted from said studying because he glances up every five minutes to look for a shock of white hair). 

Keith isn’t looking for Shiro, per say. It would just be nice to run into him one more time before the party slash not a party. Especially since the closer it gets to Saturday, the more nervous Keith gets. Unfortunately he does not accidentally walk, or run, into Shiro again. It’s not that surprising, since there are over forty thousand students currently enrolled, but it’s still a disappointment.

He has to content himself with the memory of meeting Shiro, and the subsequent invitation to the frat event. Except, the closer it gets to said frat event, the more Keith’s brain begins to over think. Shiro had a massive stack of pamphlets from Matt. Does he really want Keith to go, or is he just nice and flirty with everyone? To that point, would Shiro have even suggested he come if Matt hadn’t interrupted? 

It’s an insidious thought, because once it takes hold, Keith can’t stop thinking about it. Shiro’s obviously a few years older than him, established on campus, and probably more experienced with guys—maybe he’s not really interested in Keith. 

As soon as he thinks it, Keith chastises himself for allowing his brain to go down that road. If Shiro doesn’t like him like that it’s fine. Again, just making a friend on campus would be nice. But then, the same thought holds true—what if Shiro doesn’t really wanna be his friend and is just nice to everyone he meets? What if Keith shows up to this fucking frat thing and ends up wandering around by himself, just as alone and awkward as he felt at all the freshman orientations and parties. 

He spends all of Friday night and a good chunk of Saturday morning wavering about whether he will show up or not. The chances of ending up embarrassed or isolated are inexplicably high. If he can’t get along with a bunch of awkward freshmen, how is he supposed to get along with a bunch of cool frat guys? 

Worse, what if they do like him, and some of them end up trying to make small talk . What happens when they find out he’s half Galra? Will they think he’s a cool novelty and want him to pledge for _diversity_? Or maybe they’ll be fake friendly, but not want him to pledge? But then if he decides not to tell them about his heritage to avoid potential weirdness, will he actively be lying about who he is? The idea of doing that makes Keith’s stomach turn.

Sometimes being a person is really fucking complicated.

Keith wants to just be accepted and liked for who he is. He doesn’t think he should have to explain himself, or his parentage, to everyone, but he doesn’t like feeling like he’s hiding it either. He’d taken for granted growing up in the same place. Sure there were disadvantages to living in a small town where everyone knew his business and his mom was the only full Galra around. But there were good things too—that people knew his family, they knew Keith. He never had to explain who he was or feel like he was hiding.

Coming to college was supposed to be a chance to spread his wings and fly, but all he feels now is stuck in a cage of his own making.

Every time Keith chooses to wear long sleeves to hide the stripes on his arms to avoid weird conversations, he wonders what his mom would think—would she be ashamed of him? Would she cry? 

Keith’s not ashamed of who he is. Not by a long shot. But he’s private as hell and he hates strangers knowing his business. But somewhere in there, is a line between keeping his private life to himself and hiding who he really is and Keith’s not sure if he’s crossed it. 

His own emotional turmoil leads him to spend the rest of Saturday morning debating whether or not to actually show up. In the end, Keith decides to go, because the only thing Keith hates more than the regreting something that doesn’t go well, is the regret that comes from missing an opportunity.

At least this way if things don’t work out, Keith will know for sure. He won’t be left spending the next four years wondering what might have been if he took a chance. He’s taking that chance, and only time will tell where the cards fall.

Of course deciding to go, and actually making it there are two different things, especially once Keith realizes that he has to decide what the fuck to wear.

A quick glance out the window shows a few clouds and some sunshine. According to his phone it’s a whopping sixty nine degrees. Which means it’s an absolute crap shoot what anyone else will be wearing. Half the people here act like anything under seventy degrees calls for fucking ugg boots and puffer coats as if it were snowing, and the other half wear shorts and tank tops and flip flops every damn day—even in the rain. 

California weather makes no sense to Keith who grew up in the desert; he's used to extreme heat in the summer, and frigid mornings and nights in the winter. The mild temperature of California is neither hot nor cold, and Keith’s never entirely sure how to dress for it. So far, Keith’s settled for wearing a long sleeve cotton shirt just about every single day. It suits Keith fine since he’s not phased by the cold coastal air in the mornings and even when the sun comes out in the afternoon, he never gets hot. 

Of course going to a party that’s not quite a party on frat row is not the same as slumming it in class or the library. He’s not sure how appropriate a pair of black jeans and a long sleeve red t-shirt with a hole in the left wrist are. Is it cool enough? Is he hiding his authentic self by not showing off the stripes on his arms? 

It’s wild for Keith to realize that no one here knows him. They didn’t grow up with, they don’t know his parents or all the embarrassing awkward shit he did in middle school. Every person he meets is a blank slate. The prospect should be exciting but most days—and today especially—it feels like a lose-lose situation for Keith who doesn't want to spend all afternoon explaining to everyone why he looks human but has thick lavender stripes that curl around his forearms.

He hates the way strangers think it’s okay to ask him what other parts of his body look Galra when they catch sight of any of his marks. Or worse, the ones who seem to think Keith’s body is public property just to assuage their own curiosity. 

Keith’s lost count of the number of times his body was public conversation at sleepovers or on first dates, as if what was beneath his clothes made a difference to what is in his heart. There was even a very memorable and embarrassing time in senior year, when the rival soccer team from Albuquerque didn’t realize their locker room shared a vent with Keith’s team. They spent twenty minutes trying to guess what was in Keith’s jock stop, and Keith’s team could hear it all. As if it’s anyone’s fucking business what’s in his pants or how his biology works. It makes Keith appreciate the sacrifices his parents made to shield him from the world’s curiosity all the more. 

The easiest solution has been to wear long sleeves, since the rest of Keith’s markings are so easily hidden and it stops strangers from asking inappropriate questions. Except when he thinks about it for too long, he also feels a little guilty only wearing long sleeved shirts because he is absolutely not ashamed of being half Galra. He’s just tired of people’s curiosity meaning they think they’re entitled to Keith’s person. 

It’s ironic, since there’s a part of Keith that longs to talk about it. He wants to talk about growing up with a mixed heritage, about what it was like to have Vrondez stew alongside apple pie every fourth of July. He wants someone to tell about what it was like to go through puberty and realize that while all other boys got deeper voices and growth spurts, he got more stripes on his hips and ridges on his dick. He wants someone who looks at him and doesn’t see human or Galra, but who just sees Keith.

Of course that’s a tall order and Keith knows he’s not going to magically find someone like that at today’s frat event. But just going is a start. Keith’s putting himself out there and that feels worth something.

Without his own mode of transportation—well besides his own two feet—it takes Keith twice as long as he expects to make it frat row. 

By the time he’s walking down Marmora avenue, the event is in full swing. The street—lined with oversized houses, all with the same architecture—is overflowing with people. Somehow when Shiro said people would be out front, Keith had pictured something similar to the block parties they had back in New Mexico with a single canopy and a barbeque. What he’s seeing now looks like something out of a movie.

The front lawns of every house are full of people and while they’re presumably all sober, they’re not acting like it. Shouts and laughter echo through the air as music blares from at least three different houses. The street has been blocked off with orange cones and the entire center is taken up with what appears to be some kind of massive corn hole tournament. 

The frat house to his right has four kiddie pools full of ice and soda and someone on top of a ladder with a megaphone shouting that their fraternity is the best. They’re not the only one either. Every single frat house has something different meant to entice future pledges—tables set up with snacks and drinks, one offering free hot dogs. It’s not just the food either but the ambiance. Every frat house has something different going on from the house on the left, with the ping pong table in the middle of their walkway, to the house near the end that appears to have turned the entire grassy area into a massive slip-n-slide with tarps.

It’s unlike anything Keith has ever seen, people laughing and shouting from every direction.

To say Keith is overwhelmed would be a fucking understatement. 

Gazing down frat row, it occurs to Keith that he never asked what frat Shio was in, or where to find him. 

Everywhere he looks there are frat guys all in various stages of dress (or undress if you count the second frat house on the right, where more than one of the guys is sitting in an inflatable pool full of soap bubbles). More than half of the frat guys appear to be equally fond of the backwards snapback. To Keith’s surprise and delight, the demographic of potential pledges varies widely, which makes him feel a little more at ease. 

Finding Shiro though, that’s definitely going to be a problem. 

He does want to see Shiro, and he’s not going to deny that it’s about ninety five percent of the reason Keith showed up at all, but the other five percent Keith’s left open for the possibility that maybe joining a frat could be kind of cool. _Maybe_.

Keith’s still not sure if a fraternity is really his kind of thing, but he’d done a bunch of research last night when he couldn’t sleep, going on a deep reddit dive about the secrets of rushing a fraternity, at two am while eating an uncooked package of ramen counts as research. Some of the things he found he can’t get out of his head. He’d always thought fraternities were like sports teams on steroids, and while his research definitely alerted him to the possibility of finding a frat driven by not quite legal drinking parties, he’d also learned that a lot of guys went into fraternities seeking ways to network for their future careers or genuinely find friendship. Over and over Keith saw things about frat brothers being a family away from home and right about now that sounds damn good to Keith.

Sure, it might all end in disaster and Keith might leave today not rushing a frat or even making a friend out of Shiro, but what if he does? Something Shiro told him over coffee echoes in Keith’s mind, as his gaze travels over the throngs of people mingling and having fun. Keith is supposed to be using this time to see if any of the frats might be a good fit.

It’s the phrasing that got him.

Shiro hadn’t said _if you fit in the frat_ , he’d said _if the frat fits you_.

Maybe it’d been a slip of the tongue, maybe he didn’t mean it to have such intention but the words had resonated with Keith—still resonate. Since arriving at college Keith’s been floundering in ways he’s unused to. Keith’s always known who he was, even if other people didn’t always know what to make of him. Here- he’s not so sure.

Maybe a fraternity is just what he needs, a chance to show who he is. Keith gets to pick where he belongs. The prospect of being the one to define the next four years he spends here is a little bit exciting. Granted even if Keith finds a frat where he feels welcome and decides to rush—both long shots on their own—it doesn’t automatically mean he will get accepted. Of course, none of these things will actually be a problem if Keith doesn’t move his ass and go talk to someone—anyone.

“Just do it, Kogane,” he mumbles to himself, striding forward. 

The first frat house he walks up to is _polite_ to the extreme. They offer Keith a coke and a snack, three of them bringing him a lawn chair and no less than five different frat brothers asking him what his major is and what makes him think he wants to rush Delta Gamma Psi. Keith doesn’t have an answer, which seems to be less than impressive to them. 

The next house—naked bubble house as Keith’s taken to calling it in his head—is a bit too _touchy_ for Keith’s liking. When one of the guys gives Keith’s shirt a tug as if to help him take it off while suggesting he hop in the pool, Keith nearly asphyxiates. He decides to move along before he ends up doing something stupid like punching the next guy who tries to undress him without permission. 

He spends the next hour making his way across the lawns of different frat houses, periodically looking for Shiro with no luck. At each one he gets a vibe right off the bat. There is _these guys definitely party hard_ house, and the _these guys partake in illegal substances_ house, and the _we’re so uptight we probably don’t even touch our own dicks_ house. He even finds a _we’re here for networking_ dude-bros house. Everyone is nice, but at each subsequent house Keith can tell he would not fit in. 

With the lack of _I belong here_ feelings and no sign of Shiro, Keith begins to grow despondent. He’s lost count of how many people’s hands he shook today and how many cans of coke he drank just to have something to do besides make awkward small talk about himself and his undeclared major. He’s developing a mild headache and regretting his decision to come. It’s also loud and very peopley. Not that Keith dislikes people, but some of the ones here are a lot.

With a heavy sigh Keith sneaks away down the side of the last frat house, leaning back against the house and hiding himself away in the shade. He pulls his knees up to his chest and drops his forehead onto his knees, breathing deep. The sounds of people enjoying themselves in the distance are impossible to ignore, but Keith does his best to tune it out trying not to focus on how much he doesn’t feel like he belongs here. He can’t believe he ever thought he could be a frat guy.

He feels like an idiot.

He feels—

“Hey, you okay?” someone asks.

Keith startles, head flying up to see a guy standing a few feet away from him. He’s big, dark eyes and skin and a wide smile. Unlike most of the other guys Keith’s met today, he’s wearing neither a pastel polo or a backwards snapback. Probably not a frat guy then.

“Yeah, fine,” Keith mumbles. “Just, you know—it’s a lot out there.”

The guys laughs. “Yeah, no kidding. I’m Hunk by the way.”

“Keith.”

“You need some water or something, Keith?”

Keith shakes his head. “I’ve had so much to drink I feel like my insides are sloshing.”

“Ah yes, rush picnic piss. I remember that fondly from last year when I was a pledge.”

“You’re in a frat?” Keith blurts, before he can think about how bad it sounds.

“Yeah. That surprise you?” Hunk grins, thankfully not appearing offended.

“Oh, yeah. Just…you seem kinda chill. Not, you know—”

“Don’t worry, I know,” Hunk laughs. “Not all of us are quite so loud.”

“Yeah, it’s a lot.”

“Do you wanna come inside?” Hunk asks, nodding towards the house Keith’s leaning against. “To get away from the noise for a few minutes.”

“Fuck yes,” Keith exhales, then adds on a “please.”

Hunk laughs, waving his arm. “Come on then.”

Keith wastes no time in hopping up from the ground, dusting the grass off his pants and following Hunk down the side of the house. Several people yell or wave to Hunk—a clear indication of how well liked he is—as Hunk leads Keith through the group of people playing Frisbee in the front yard and up onto the porch and into the house. He’s not entirely sure what he expects when he walks inside—maybe a ratty couch and a lot of red solo plastic cups. He’s not expecting what he sees instead.

“Welcome to Tau Phi Sigma Mu, or as we like to call it, _Rebel Base_.” He lowers his voice as he says it, his tone serious. 

It pulls a smile from Keith as he realizes exactly where he’s ended up—the nerdy frat house.

Everywhere he looks from the tapestry of the shire behind the couch, to the array of gaming systems piled in the corner near the jumbo tv and the half built computer on the coffee table screams _nerdy shit_. Keith loves it. It reminds him of the hoards of manga stashed away on his bookshelves at home and his pre-teen obsession with superheroes.

“Did you wanna use the bathroom?” Hunk queries.

“Yes,” Keith says, sagging with relief as his bladder screams at him.

“Down the hall, first door on the left.”

“Thanks,” Keith says, trying to take in the rest of the house without appearing to be too nosy. There’s a small BB-8 hiding behind one of the oversized chairs in the corner, along with a novel folded over the arm Keith’s never heard of but the covers got an elf with a sword, so Keith can guess what it might be about.

He turns left down the hallway and his smile grows when he notices the array of pride flags that line the long hallway. There’s also an entire wall of photos of all the members—past and present—in the fraternity but Keith’s got to piss too bad to take time to examine them. By the time he’s finished, there are more voices in the living room and Keith’s too nervous to poke around. He abandons snooping in the hallway in favor of making his way back to the living room.

“Keith, this is Kinkade,” Hunk says, the second Keith enters the room.

Kinkade is a handsome guy—a blinding smile half hidden behind a huge camera. “Nice to meet you Keith.”

“Kinkade is our resident cameraman,” Hunk tells him. “He takes all the photos for the legacy wall, updates our frat house social media accounts and is the senior photographer for the Altea press. He’s basically amazing.”

“Hunk is too nice,” Kinkade , holding up his camera. “Now say cheese.”

“Oh, me?” Keith blinks, surprised to realize the camera is directed towards him. 

“Unless you don’t want your photo taken?” Kinkade says, lowering the camera just enough to make it clear he’s waiting for consent. Keith likes this guy.

“No, it’s fine,” Keith says, trying to remember what a smile looks like. He’s always felt awkward as hell having his photo taken.

“Relax buddy,” Kinkade says, in a way that shockingly, doesn’t raise Keith’s defenses.

“Sorry,” Keith mumbles.

“You’re all good dude. Just a few friends taking a photo. No big deal.”

Friends. It makes Keith smile. The other fraternities had claimed the same thing but Keith had never believed it. When Kinkade says it, somehow, it sounds like the truth. It reminds him of Shiro, of the way he’d looked when he told Keith he might find somewhere he fit. All day he’d been sure that was just some myth the Greek system churned out to convince people to pledge, but standing in the middle of Tau Phi Sigma Mu he understands now what Shiro meant.

It’s not until Kinkade lets out a low whistle, pumping his fist in the air, that Keith remembers he’s being stared at.

“This is a front of the paper kind of shot,” Kinkade crows.

“No it’s not, let me see,” Keith says, crossing the room and crowding up against Kinkade’s side to try and look at the screen.

“I wanna see too,” Hunk says, smashing into Kinkade’s other side.

“What are we looking at?” a new voice yells as someone else comes in through the front door, jumping onto the sofa to peer over their shoulders.

“We’re looking at Keith,” Kinkade says.

“Who is Keith?” the new guy asks.

“I’m Keith,” he blurts, tipping his head up to see where the voice came from. 

He looks up and up and _up_ —because it’s not some guy- it’s a Galra guy. He’s huge, his big ears sticking out from beneath a backwards cap. Keith saw other Galra freshman but this is the first Galra he’s seen in a frat. It makes Keith’s chest flutter to see how easily someone like him is clearly accepted here. Or, almost like him anyway.

“What’s up, Keith,” he replies, as if strangers in their house are no big deal. “I’m Regris.”

“Damn,” Hunk whistles, pulling Keith’s attention away from the Galra frat boy and back to the camera. 

There on the screen is Keith, but a version of Keith he’s not used to seeing. His face is crystal clear, the background blurred to draw all attention to him. What really catches his attention though is how relaxed he looks—how genuine the smile on his face is. He looks, well—happy.

“You’re really good,” Keith mumbles.

“Thanks,” Kinkade grins, clearly at ease with taking compliments. “Doesn’t hurt to have a good subject.”

Keith has no fucking idea how to respond to that so he simply doesn’t, hoping no one notices the heat that floods his cheeks as he shoves his hands into his pockets.

“Also why the fuck are you inside, Regris? You’re supposed to be manning the free beverages table.”

“Because we’re out of ice,” Regris answers with a shrug of his big shoulders.

“Already?” Hunk groans. “I better go to the store.”

“I got it,” Kinkade says, clapping Hunk on the back. “You did three runs yesterday.”

“Thanks, buddy.”

“Don’t mention it,” Kinkade says, turning his attention to Regris. “Well, are you coming?”

“I’m not getting in your death trap car,” Regris snorts.

“It’s not a death trap car. It’s a classic!”

“It’s not a classic it’s a piece of shit honda civic with two hundred thousand miles on it, and no side mirrors and the last time I got in it the engine exploded.”

“A little exhaust came out, it didn’t explode. Besides if you come with me I’ll buy you a slurpee.”

Regris’s large ears perk up at that, his tail giving an unmistakable swish as it thuds against the couch. “A big one?”

“Sure,” Kinkade says, biting down on his bottom lip as he tips his head back to stare at Regris in a way that makes Keith feel like he’s intruding. He’s never seen another human look at a Galra like that except for his parents.

Regris, clearly amused, jumps onto Kinkade’s back.

“Jesus christ you’re heavy,” Kinkade snorts, letting his camera fall down around his neck. Despite his words he doesn’t look at all upset about having Regris on his back, if anything his smile has magnified tenfold despite how much bigger the Galra boy is.

“Nice to meet you, Keith,” Regris says, giving Keith a curt wave before looping his arms around Kinkade’s neck and his tail around his waist.

“Yeah, what he said,” Kinkade echoes, giving Keith another smile and a nod and looking unmistakably pleased about the current turn of events.

Keith waits until they’ve departed and it’s only him and Hunk left before blurting, “Are Kinkade and Regris a thing?”

“Why?” Hunk asks, his previous cheerful demeanor darkening. “If this is some human and Galra shouldn’t date bullshit we don’t tolerate that in this frat house.”

He has to remind himself that Hunk has no idea who his parents are, that no one here does. It’s weird to be accused of something like that. As much as he likes Hunk, he’s not quite ready to lay his own life story on the line, but the clear protectiveness Hunk has for his frat brothers makes Keith certain that whenever he is ready, it will be met with acceptance.

“No. No, I don’t have a problem with it at all. I was just curious, they seem…close.”

“Oh, yeah they are,” Hunk answers, his tone softening once more. “Sorry about you know, assuming the worst. Regris is—he’s a good guy. They both are. But let's just say Regris didn’t have it easy growing up and sometimes people can be assholes. And when it comes to him and Kinkade well…Kinkade has a much easier time saying what he wants. They’ll get there though. They’ve been dancing around each other for months now. Why? You didn’t have a crush on one of them did you?”

“What? God no. Not that they’re both not handsome in their own right but, uh there’s someone else. I mean—fuck, no. There’s not someone else, I’m single but there’s um you know…never mind.”

Hunk laughs, clapping Keith on the back. “Someone else you’ve got a crush on?”

“I dunno, maybe,” Keith says, surprised at how easy it is to tell Hunk. “I’ve only met him once but he’s so fucking gorgeous it hurts to look at him and he’s nice too. I thought he’d be here today but—” Keith breaks off with a shrug.

“Well the day isn’t over yet, maybe you’ll run into this mystery man.”

It’s a relief to be able to say he’s got a crush on a boy without having to preface it with coming out first, and the sense of _I could belong here_ increases at Hunk’s easy going acceptance of Keith’s confession.

“Maybe,” Keith agrees. “I hope. He kind of…invited me to rush week. But maybe he just invites everyone who’s a freshman. God, I’m an idiot. Him and his stupidly handsome face and stupid pretty white hair, sticking out of his stupid backwards snapback.”

Hunk clears his throat. “White hair, huh?”

Keith sighs. “Yeah, it’s so stupid but he looks so hot. And he’s just…nice. So nice, Hunk. I mean I’ve only met him once maybe he was just being polite but I dunno. It’s pathetic, isn’t it?”

“It’s sweet,” Hunk challenges, an unreadable expression on his face. “Speaking of, I uh…you should come to the backyard.”

“Why, what’s in the backyard?”

“Something stupid,” Hunk says, chuckling to himself. 

Keith doesn’t get it, but he follows Hunk anyway—through the living room, down the hallway and out the back door from the kitchen. At first he’s not sure what he’s supposed to be looking at.

“It’s a bunch of guys with a slip-n-slide,” he says, eyeing the row of soaking wet guys dragging the large plastic sheeting he could’ve sworn was on the front lawn of a different frat hour half an hour ago.

“Yeah it is,” Hunk agrees. “Right before I found you, Pi Theta Xi’s water valve shut off. One of our very own brother’s offered to let them set up the slip-n-slide in our backyard and has been lugging the water covered tarps over the fence for the last half hour.”

“Uh, that’s nice,” Keith says, still unsure what Hunk’s point is.

“Yeah, he’s nice. Such a nice guy,” Hunk agrees. “Some people even say he’s stupidly handsome.”

Stupidly handsome.

_Stupidly handsome._

Keith’s head whips around from Hunk to the massive backyard so fast he nearly gets whiplash—his eyes roaming over the throngs of guys yelling and shouting as they stake down the massive, makeshift slip-n-slide. There, clearly leading the charge, is someone Keith can’t believe he missed. Someone with a soaking wet white tank top and wet grey sweats and a backwards snapback with the same tuft of shimmering white hair sticking out of the front.

“Oh my god,” Keith utters like a fucking deer caught in headlights.

“Most people just call him Shiro,” Hunk teases.

It makes Keith _wheeze_ as his entire life flashes before him. He did not seriously just confess his stupid crush to someone who is apparently Shiro’s frat brother. Worse, he was honest. Like super honest. He called Shiro stupidly handsome. He said he liked his stupid, weird cute floof. He said he _liked him_. And now Shiro is here. Shiro is here and he’s part of the only frat that made Keith feel like he belonged. 

Keith feels like he might fucking faint.

“You okay there, buddy?” Hunk asks.

“Fine,” Keith chokes, trying to decide what to do with the rush of embarrassment and arousal flooding his endocrine system.

“Wanna know something funny?” Hunk says, leaning against the porch railing.

“Sure,” Keith croaks, unsure how he will ever be able to human again.

“Shiro’s been driving all of us nuts for the last three days. Ever since some, and I quote _cute freshman walked into me_.”

“He did not,” Keith blinks, lowkey flattered that he made a good enough impression on Shiro to be mentioned.

“He’s a bit of a flirt as you might’ve noticed,” Hunk says. 

Keith’s heart plummets. “Oh, so he flirts with everyone?”

“Well no, not _everyone_. That’s the thing. Shiro is pretty charming, a little flirty with people he likes. But flirting with intention? No.

I’ve known Shiro for three years and I’ve only ever seen him date one guy. My man is kind of hyperfocued on his career aspirations. Play hard, work even harder- is Shiro’s motto. For all his carefree attitude he spends most of his time either in class, hanging out with us or doing charity work for the charity he co founded last year—pets and prosthesis. It’s a joint venture between the robotics department and the animal hospital across town. Shiro’s double majoring in Engineering and mechanical science—looking to get his doctorate in advanced biomechanical engineering. He and I actually worked with the engineering department on campus to develop the prosthetic he has now.”

“That’s…incredible,” Keith breathes, unsure how to handle the knowledge that Shiro isn’t just hot but also nice and smart. Like really smart.

“Isn’t it? Pretty cool stuff. If you’re into engineering at all you should ask him about it. Shiro loves to show it off. He calls it his tony stark arm.”

“Are you sure Shiro was talking about me before?” Keith says, trying to make sense of how he made such a strong impression on someone like this.

“Oh yeah. I mean not before no. I just saw you on the side of the house and you looked like you could use a few minutes of quiet. I didn’t even connect the dots when you told me your name. I mean Keith isn’t exactly an uncommon name and I wasn’t really thinking about Shiro’s massive crush at the time. But as soon as you mentioned the snapback and floof...well it wasn’t hard to put two and two together. Besides you do sort of match the way Shiro described you.”

“How did Shiro describe me?” Keith asks.

“He said you were really pretty but could probably kick his ass.”

He’s never heard anyone describe him like that, and while he has been called pretty before he’s never liked the way his exes assumed pretty meant fragile. Keith isn’t fragile and Shiro apparently can tell. Keith likes that a lot. 

Keith barks out a laugh before he can help himself. Before he can apologize Hunk joins in, eyes darting over to Shiro who is orchestrating some type of pulley system using buckets, rope and the tree in the backyard. Keith’s not sure what he’s trying to do but he’s impressed already by the sheer magnitude.

“He won’t mind you uh, telling me all this will he?” Keith asks, sobering up.

“Considering he asked me to talk him up if I met you first, I don’t think so,” Hunk snorts. “Shiro’s, well—let’s just say he’s not shy. But he also doesn’t always see his worth. I think you might though.”

The observation makes something funny twist inside of Keith. He hardly knows Shiro but damn does he want to get to know him better.

“Fate works in funny ways, my man. All day Shiro’s been full of nervous energy. He’s spent the last few days saying he hoped the guy he met ended up coming which was reason enough in itself for the rest of us to know something was up. Shiro’s not really the casual dating kind of guy. But then this morning he was the first one outside at nine am getting the house ready and he literally woke up all of us and made us clean the entire damn house. Even Matt! And Matt’s the president!”

“All damn day I’ve heard nothing but _Hunk the guy I invited didn’t come yet_ and _Hey Hunk have you seen a pretty freshman with dark hair_ and _maybe he won’t really show up_. As one of Shiro’s best friends I was fully prepared to need to talk Shiro down or dislike you if you ended up being an asshole. I just kept thinking to myself Shiro must have built up this guy he met in his head as something he wasn’t, but now I’ve met you I’m not so sure.”

“Oh, uh…thanks,” Keith mutters, unsure how to respond.

“Do you want to see him?”

“Well obviously, but—” except Keith never gets to finish that sentence.

One second he’s talking and the next second Hunk is cupping his hands around his mouth and hollering, “Hey Shirogane, your boy is here.”

Every single one of the frat guys in the backyard, Shiro included, turns their head. It’s far too much attention for Keith who feels his soul wither at so much attention. Thankfully, Shiro barks out something too low for him to hear that has all the other guys returning to their tasks as he jogs across the yard.

Watching Shiro jog is not unlike the time Keith had watched Baywatch at a sleepover when he was thirteen, and got stuck wondering what all the fuss about watching a woman run was about. 

Watching Shiro run, Keith finally understands.

Slow motion running montages in movies always made Keith laugh, but he’s not laughing now. Shiro runs like a god damn, fucking dream—his pecs jiggling in his wet tank top. His chest isn’t the only thing to jiggle as he runs, and Keith nearly shuts his eyes to avoid another potential inappropriate boner but he can’t. He physically cannot tear his eyes away from the way Shiro’s long legs slide across the lawn and his body moves—taut muscles and broad chest on full display.

Then, as if just running isn't impressive enough, Shiro bypasses the stairs that lead up to the back patio, as if he’s on American Ninja warrior or something, and fucking leaps a good six feet in the air. He grabs a hold of the wooden railing and using nothing but his massive arms—flips himself up onto the porch and into a sitting position on the railing.

Keith’s mouth falls open as he blinks at Shiro who has a smug as shit grin on his face.

“You’re literally a peacock, Shiro,” Hunk says.

“I have no idea what you’re talking about,” Shiro replies. “I merely chose the quickest route to welcome Keith to our humble abode. Welcome, by the way,” he says, sending Keith a wink that makes Keith’s heart leap into his throat.

“Um, thanks,” Keith stutters, unsure what the appropriate response to the hottest guy alive doing shit like this to impress you is.

“You broke him, Shiro,” Hunk laughs.

Shiro scoots down off the patio railing, an action which makes his sweats bunch up around the thickest part of his thighs and ensures that Keith forgets how to fucking breathe. Without an ounce of self consciousness, Shiro pauses mid step to adjust his sweats—smoothing the material down over his thighs with painstaking care. When he’s finished he resumes walking forward until he’s just inches from Keith.

“Hi, Keith.”

Something about the pitch of his voice makes Keith’s heart leap into his throat. It doesn’t matter that Hunk is still standing beside them or that there are fifty some strangers in the backyard—some of them likely staring. All of Keith’s focus is on the man in front of him. As far as he’s concerned, everyone else might as well not exist. 

“Hi, Shiro.”

“I’m so glad you came.”

“Yeah?” Keith whispers, not above angling for a little more confirmation. 

“Yeah, freshmint,” Shiro grins, reaching up with metal fingers to brush away the hair that’s blown into Keith’s eyes. 

Keith’s heart thunders in his chest—body electrified by such a simple touch. 

Beside them Hunk clears his throat, _loudly_. “As much as it pains me to interrupt what is so obviously love at first sight, someone needs to remind you of charter code seven—”

“I know,” Shiro interrupts, voice firm but wistful. “No fraternizing with potential or current pledges.”

“Oh,” Keith exhales, deflating like a week old helium balloon.

“It’s a good rule actually. Important,” Shiro says, still impossibly close. “Picking a fraternity, rushing—it should be a choice you make for you. Because you want it. Because it’s a place that’ll make _you_ happy. I don’t want to influence your choice to rush, if you decide to. You don’t have to if it’s not for you or—”

“I want to rush,” Keith interrupts.

“Yeah?” Shiro asks, eyes lighting up. “Any idea which frat you might want to rush yet? There are a lot to choose from.”

“Well, there is this one frat I’m considering,” Keith grins. “It seems like a good house—nice guys, laid back vibes, real nerdy types you know. There’s just one thing.”

“What’s that?” Shiro asks.

“There’s this really hot guy in the frat. I mean just beautiful and nice and he seems pretty athletic too, but—”

“But what?” Shiro asks, tongue darting out to swipe over the swell of his bottom lip.

“But he might just be all talk.”

Shiro blinks as Hunk throws his head back and laughs. Truthfully Keith kind of forgot Hunk was there for a second and he hopes he’s not blushing. He can’t believe he was so bold with other people listening, but he can’t find it in him to regret it either.

“Oh my god I’m sorry,” Hunk snorts, still laughing. “You’ll fit in so well, Keith. He needs someone to keep him in check.”

Shiro huffs, but it’s clear he’s not actually offended. If anything he looks a bit excited—his eyes wide and his chest filled with air as directs his full attention back to Keith.

“You gonna keep me in check, freshmint?”

Despite the fact that it’s a brisk sixty four degrees and they’re standing in the shade, Keith’s entire body feels like he just walked into a fucking volcano. He’s never met anyone who could make him feel like this with just a few words. 

“Maybe,” Keith says, angling his chin up defiantly. “I bet I can handle you.”

“Yeah?”

“Yeah.”

“God, I like you,” Shiro says, as if just saying what you think and feel is completely acceptable. For someone like Keith who’s gone to great lengths to guard his own feelings until he’s one thousand percent sure they’re safe to let out, it’s a shock. And a turn on, if he’s being honest. 

“So uh, about this whole charter code thing,” Keith says, acutely aware that if he were to rise onto his tiptoes, his lips would press against Shiro’s right now.

“What about it?” Shiro asks.

“How does it work exactly? What are the parameters?”

“Oh, well,” Shiro starts leaning so close his breath ghosts over Keith’s list, “fraternization is when—”

“I know what that is,” Keith groans, hoping his pants are loose enough to hide his dick which is definitely plumping. “I meant how long does it last.”

“Not to brag but my stamina is pretty impressive.”

“You’re going to kill him, Shiro,” Hunk interjects. “Four weeks, Keith. It lasts four weeks. You pledge to your chosen fraternity, wait to see if you get a bid, and if you do there’s a month long pledging period for you to learn our history and see how well you fit. Then, if you’re accepted, you get invited to formally join your chosen fraternity. Start to finish it last a month, well a month and one day if you include the initiation. At the end you’re either not a pledge, so the rules don’t apply or you’re a frat brother so, well—also the rules don’t apply.”

“Thanks, Hunk.”

“Don’t mention it,” Hunk says. “Also I’m going to go…well anywhere else. Because you two are a lot to handle.”

“Sorry, Hunk,” Shiro says, standing up straighter.

“No, you’re not,” Hunk laughs.

Abashed, Shiro ducks his head. “Not really.” 

“It’s alright,” Hunk laughs, clapping Shiro on the back. “It’s nice to see you smiling so much again, buddy.”

 _Again._

Keith’s curiosity mounts, but he says nothing, watching the exchange with something akin to awe. They’re both so open with their emotions and it makes longing well up in Keith. This is what he wants, he realizes—this kind of deep friendship. 

“Yeah…yeah it feels good,” Shiro says, looking delighted when Hunk pulls him into a hug.

Hunk mumbles something into Shiro’s shoulder that has Shiro patting his back. “I love you too, dude.”

“I need some water,” Hunk announces, swiping his hands over his eyes and walking away.

“You can ask,” Shiro says, eyes still on Hunk watching away. “I can tell you want to.”

Keith blushes. He was either really obvious with his staring or Shiro is observant as fuck.

“So, uh… Hunk said it was nice to see you smile again,” Keith says, cleaning his throat. “You guys seem close.”

He’s not even sure how to ask what he wants to know. Shiro seems to understand.

“So you uh, might’ve noticed the prosthetic,” Shiro says, wiggling his metal fingers. “It’s pretty cool. I tried to get them to add rainbow lights into the circuits but they said it wasn’t in the budget. Still, looks pretty bad ass though.”

“It does,” Keith agrees.

“It wasn’t always like this. I lost the arm freshman year—car accident during rush week. I figured that was it, why would they accept me into their frat now, but when I woke up my arm was missing but the guys were there. All of them. Hunk drove me to physical therapy five days a week. Kinkade and Regris took notes for all my classes, even the ones they weren’t in. Matt was the one who helped get me into the prosthetic trial. The other’s took turns doing my laundry and making sure I ate until I could do it myself.”

“They’ve just always been there. They’ve seen the good and bad and last year there was…a lot of bad. I wasn’t feeling so good, a lot of headaches—I lost a lot of muscle mass, just wasn’t feeling myself you know? Turns out my old prosthetic was basically poisoning me. Ended up spending a lot of time in the hospital, and eventually I lost the bad prosthetic and my ex-boyfriend who decided I wasn’t really worth the trouble or something.”

He pauses, scrubbing a hand over his jaw and Keith has to tamp down the anger bubbling up inside of him. He’s never felt such a protective rage over someone he doesn’t really know but he hopes he never meets Shiro’s ex.

“It’s fine, or well, it is now,” Shiro says. “We weren’t a perfect match anyway, but it was a lot to handle you know? But the guys were there, encouraging me to get help. Eventually things turned around…got a therapist, a new prosthetic. I came back this year determined to have a fresh start, to just leave all that stuff in the past. Sometimes it feels easy to let the hurt define us but I didn’t want it to, you know?”

“Yeah,” Keith echoes, shocked at the depth of his empathy right now. He wishes he could hug Shiro. “I know.”

“I promised myself that I was gonna make this year _my_ year. If there was something that was going to make me happy, I was gonna go for it. Or _someone_.”

Goosebumps pop up all over Keith’s arms as the reality of the words hit him. 

Shiro’s been so open with him, it makes Keith want to share too. Instead of hoarding his past away like a dragon, he finds himself wanting to share it with Shiro. He’s never wanted to share pieces of himself with anyone else like this and it’s as exciting as it is fucking terrifying.

“I grew up in a pretty small town. It was a good life. I had a great childhood. My parents did everything they could to make sure I was happy but I always felt a little bit like I didn’t fit in” Keith whispers. “I promised myself that college would be different. I wanted to find out who I was on my own, you know? Figure out where I might fit.”

“Yeah, and how is that going so far?” Shiro asks.

“Better now,” Keith answers, biting his lip as he swallows down the sudden rush of nerves, unable to believe what he’s about to do. Before he can lose his nerve, he pushes his shirtsleeves up to his elbows— the pale purple stripes that swirl around his forearms on full display.

“Thank you,” Shiro smiles.

“What for?” Keith asks, wondering if Shiro can hear the sudden thundering of his heart.

“Showing me,” Shiro answers, nodding down towards Keith’s exposed forearms. “That was a big thing, yeah?”

“Oh,” Keith whispers, somehow surprised that Shiro understands the magnitude. The urge to pretend it’s not a big thing is strong, but somehow it feels like maybe the truth would be okay to share with Shiro. “Yeah, it is. I’m not ashamed or anything, but it’s no one else’s business either.”

“I know it might not seem like it because I can be, well—a little loud. But I’m really good at keeping secrets or being discreet if I need to be.”

The offer is sweet, and somehow makes Keith’s decision all the easier. “It’s okay. I’m not… I don’t want to lie or hide who I am. I just don’t like feeling like I have to come out to everyone I meet you know?”

“Yeah, Keith. I know.”

Keith nods. As a queer person he probably does know. The default is always straight, and for Keith always human. He hates having to come out over and over again.

“They’re beautiful,” Shiro says, startling Keith from his thoughts.

Keith’s heard it all in relation to his stripes—exotic, different, kind of cool, weird. The only people who ever called them beautiful were his parents. He’s never had someone else say it, and it hits so differently.

“Do you want to see?” Keith asks, shocked at his own boldness.

“Please,” Shiro whispers.

Holding his breath, Keith pushes the sleeves of his shirt up a little further then holds his arms out, afraid to breath as Shiro’s eyes track over the markings. He lifts his fingers tracing the air above them and Keith swears he can feel the phantom touch.

“Beautiful,” Shiro repeats and Keith damn near forgets how to breathe.

He wants to touch Shiro so badly, wants to be touched. Four weeks sounds like a goddamn eternity, but it also sounds worth it.

“I think,” Keith says, dropping his arms to his sides and thinking about rushing, “this is going to be fun.”

Shiro’s responding grin is nothing short of ground shaking. “Oh, Keith, you have no idea.”

* * *

It’s not until Keith’s crashed out in his bed later that night that it occurs to him just because he wants to pledge Tau Phi Sigma Mu doesn’t mean he will actually get a bid. Or if he does get a bid, it doesn’t mean he will actually get into the fraternity. 

Wanting to pledge feels like a big enough leap of faith, so Keith does his best not to think too far ahead about what might or might not happen in regards to bids and acceptance. 

He tries not to think about the way Shiro looked at him.

He tries not to think about what might happen between them if he doesn’t get in.

He tries not to think about what might happen if he _does_.

Keith knows better than to assume that everything will work out just because he wants it to, but that doesn’t mean he can’t hope. The next morning when he wakes up to a letter under his dorm room door with a familiar Greek crest on the back, he doesn’t hesitate to rip the envelope open—inside is a bid to rush.

The next week and a half passes by in a blur. One moment Keith is riding high on getting his bid while calling his parents to try and explain how an introvert like him ended up pledging a frat. The next, he’s thrown into the reality of pledge week which is nothing like modern media would have Keith assume. 

Somehow he expects rowdy frat parties and a lot of drinking. Instead he learns that Tau Phi Sigma Mu is a liquor free fraternity— _“Less liability insurance,”_ Matt told him seriously on the first day. Keith’s not phased about it either way. He doesn’t care what other people do, but he doesn’t need alcohol to have a good time. Turns out though, pledging isn’t just about having a good time or parties. Not that it’s _not_ a good time, but it’s exhausting in ways Keith doesn’t anticipate. 

His days are full of classes and studying during the day and afternoons filled with activities. A two hour slideshow about the history of the fraternity, a full Saturday of community service including beach clean up in the morning and several hours at the local animal shelter in the afternoon. A day trying to understand the day to day life in a frat getting to know all the frat brothers, a particularly long and boring few hours about the annual costs and commitment forms. There is also the possibility of living off campus and in the frat house—the item on the agenda that interests Keith the most. 

The more he learns, the more he likes. 

It’s wild for Keith, who has always struggled to feel like he really fit in with people besides his family, to realize how well he fits into Tau Phi Sigma Mu. Just like at the rush picnic, the pledging reveals how well Keith does in fact get along with everyone. Kinkade and Hunk are easy to talk to, Matt is a little intense, but kind. Regris makes him laugh—and almost makes him cry on the third day when he gets up the nerve to wear a three quarter sleeve baseball tee. Regris noticed the stripes on his arm and immediately walked over to offer Keith the same Galran greeting Professor Ulaz had in his office. The other guys in the frat are nice, trying to teach Keith how to play Dungeons and Dragons, hosting a mario kart racing tournament and basically making sure Keith and the other pledges feel welcome. 

None of it compares to Shiro though.

Shiro.

Just thinking about him makes something in Keith burn. He’s liked people before but he’s never felt like _this_. At every pledge event and get together Keith is so acutely aware of Shiro’s presence—as if the air between them is charged with electricity. He mingles with everyone and inevitably he and Shiro are always drawn together.

When Shiro is in the same room it’s hard for Keith to even think about anything or anyone else. He can practically feel Shiro’s eyes on him, feel the warmth of his smile and the breadth of his kindness. Beyond being a wicked flirt, Shiro’s a complete fucking dork who is the world’s sorest loser at Mario cart, who dog ears the pages of his favorite manga and whose idea of fun is charting stars on the roof of the frat house. He’s also someone who thinks working out is fun, whose drive for academic success is astounding and who works as hard as he plays.

Keith likes every fucking thing about him.

With every passing day it becomes harder and harder for Keith to resist the urge to brush up against Shiro’s body; to resist the urge to beg Shiro to press him up against the wall or a bed and touch him, to stop himself from wanting to climb Shiro like a fucking tree.

He’s busier than he’s ever been—even busier than his senior year where he took all AP classes and did two sports. He’s also hornier. 

At nineteen Keith’s no stranger to sex or jerking off, but he’s never touched himself as much as he does during pledge week. 

The complete lack of privacy in his stupid dorm means Keith ends up taking two or three showers a day, just so he can have some alone time to deal with his raging arousal. He showers in the morning—biting back moans and unable to tamper the purr that rumbles out of his chest as he thinks about Shiro and strokes his own dick. He leaves the frat at night, immediately showering when he gets back to his dorm—jerking himself off hard and fast and nearly biting a hole in his bottom lip as he fingers himself.

More than once he wakes up in the middle of the night drenched in sweat and so hard it hurts. His roommate sleeps like the dead but Keith can’t wrap a hand around his throbbing cock with someone snoring six feet away, so when it happens he sneaks down the hallway to the empty showers, writhing with pleasure as images of Shiro’s beautiful smile and his big hands filter into Keith’s brain. He comes so hard his legs shake and his heart pounds in his chest. 

More shocking than his inability to stop jerking off, is that he can’t stop fucking purring. 

It’s something Keith’s never had to deal with. Sure there’s been his awkward puberty where he purred every time he had a wet dream or got a boner which was awkward as fuck because it meant his parents always knew. He learned early on how to tamp it down, how to mask the sounds. He hadn’t even purred when he lost his virginity (but then his ex had been an inexperienced sixteen year old and a terrible fuck, so it wasn’t too surprising that Keith wasn’t happy or aroused enough for it to sound).

He purrs now. The sound rattles out of his chest as his cock plumps in his hand. He purrs when he closes his eyes and drags his fingers down his own body wishing they were Shiro’s. He purrs as he fingers himself wide open wishing it were Shiro. He purrs as he imagines Shiro bent over for him, imagining what it might feel like to fuck the other boy.

The purring during sex isn’t the most confusing thing to deal with though. It’s the purring when he’s _not_ hard. On more than one occasion while with Shiro, he catches himself so relaxed and happy that the sound rumbles. Every time he panics, making an excuse as to why he needs to go to the bathroom or find Hunk or anything else that will stop Shiro from hearing him. His mom, during one particularly embarrassing and graphic sex talk, had told Keith purring was a sign of a happy Galra. But then she’d started talking about the way she purred with his dad and Keith had covered his ears and started to hum.

As a half Galra Keith put his mom’s words out of his head, assuming it was something that just didn’t apply to him. Sure he purred when he jerked off sometimes if it felt particularly good, but he’d never purred on a date. He hadn’t purred when he got his first hand job or lost his virginity. It makes his inability to stop purring when he’s near Shiro or thinking about him, overwhelming as absolute fuck. Or more precisely embarrassing. 

It feels like a blinking red sign over Keith’s head that says _Shiro I’m so into you_ which isn’t really news, Shiro knows. But there’s a difference between some flirting and the insinuation that they’re probably hopefully going to go on a date when pledge is over, versus Keith’s biology blaring signals that scream _you’re the right guy for me_.

If Keith stops and really thinks about it, he’s not entirely sure he’d mind Shiro hearing it. But _only_ Shiro. He doesn’t like the idea that anyone around them just knows how he feels. It’s too private for that, at least for Keith. But Shiro is being a complete gentleman, and following the code of conduct means Keith _can’t_ be alone with Shiro. Can’t ask if Shiro’s noticed the tiny sounds that come from his chest, can’t ask if he likes them. He isn’t supposed to ask Shiro what exactly he wants from this, if Shiro is the kind of guy who fucks around or is monogamous. 

Day by day Keith’s feelings grow, and it seems like Shiro’s are too, if the longing glances and soft smiles he sends Keith’s way are any indication. But it’s unspoken. They flirt, but nothing deeper. 

Keith knows that nothing Shiro does or doesn’t do would affect his desire to join the frat and he tells Shiro as much, but Shiro’s resolve is unshakable. It’s sexually frustrating but hot as hell to see how much respect Shiro has both for his fraternity and its code of ethics and for Keith’s autonomy. Of course, none of that helps Keith one bit. There’s nothing about Shiro that he doesn’t find sexy. 

He even walked into the frat house yesterday to find Shiro and Regris having a Twinkie eating contest which was both revolting and one of the hottest things Keith had ever seen. Especially once he realized he now possesses the knowledge of what Shiro looks like with a full mouth and cream on his lips.

Even with a suddenly over full social schedule, coupled with his rigorous course load and his body’s confusing reactions around Shiro, everything is good. 

Physically he feels a bit shit—a headache that won’t go away, an achy body and sleeplessness— but emotionally Keith is happier than he’s been since he got to college, so he ignores the rest. At least until he falls asleep mid lecture and Professor Ulaz kindly prods him awake and sends him to the health center. 

That turns out to be a waste of time and he leaves an hour later with the assurance that he has no fever or other quantifiable illness, and the not so subtle implication that most freshmen have a rough adjustment to first year and Keith’s probably just homesick. It doesn’t seem quite right to Keith, who finally feels settled in his new home away from home but he’s gratified that he’s at least not contagious, and immediately heads back to the frat house. He spends the entirety of Friday night side by side on the couch with Shiro, learning how to play Breath Of The Wild while the rest of the guys engage in a rowdy sounding DnD campaign in the kitchen. Matt does god knows what in the middle of the living room with a satellite he claims he found on the side of the road.

All in all, Keith’s really fucking happy. 

His crush on Shiro has progressed from _this guy is hot_ to _this guy is hot but also feels like someone I’ve known my entire life_ which is a little scary but mostly just exhilarating, and he’s more certain than ever that he belongs in Tau Phi Sigma Mu. He’s finally settling into his classes and even gets up the nerve to join a study group. Everything in Keith’s life is clicking into place. 

Granted he can’t guarantee that he’s going to get a bid to join the frat, but something in his gut tells him he will. All the guys seem to really like him and to Keith’s continual shock, he actually feels like he fits in without trying too hard or pretending to be someone or something he isn’t. 

Everything is going better than Keith could have dreamed and he falls asleep Friday night, content in knowing tomorrow is his last day of pledging and he’s got this.

* * *

Keith does not got this.

Keith does not got anything.

Keith is a mess.

His head is pounding, there’s a weird ache in his bones, and he has the inexplicable urge to bury his face in Shiro’s chest— though whether he wants to ask for a hug or a hand job he’s not sure. 

He knows most of it is likely just because he slept like shit last night, but he’s out of sorts and cranky. The cafeteria was out of the breakfast burritos which he really wanted, he lost his fucking student ID, and he’s been stuck standing next to his least favorite pledge—James, an absolute suck up douche bag—for twenty minutes while the brothers explain exactly what they’re doing today. Truthfully Keith’s focus is shot and he hasn’t been paying attention. He alternates between resisting the urge to punch James for the little comments he keeps making about how fit Shiro is, to also being distracted by how fit Shiro is.

Again, Keith chalks this up to his poor night of sleep and the fact that Shiro is standing in the middle of the backyard dressed in a pair of thin black basketball shorts that leave nothing to the imagination. His loose, hot pink tank top is cut low enough that Keith can see the dusty rose of his left nipple, and his snapback is on backwards as usual. He’s so fucking hot, Keith can hardly think straight.

“So, you and Shiro,” James starts, making Keith’s eye twitch.

“Yeah?” Keith grits out, reminding himself that getting into a fight is not going to help his odds of getting into the frat.

“Well, what are you?” he asks.

“None of your business,” Keith answers, patience thinning. 

“So nothing. Cool.”

Keith’s never wanted to punch someone more than he does in that moment. Something in his expression must show, because one second he’s opening his mouth to tell James exactly where he can shove it and the next Regris is sprinting across the yard at lightning speed, sliding himself between Keith and James.

“Keith, can I have a word?” Regris asks. 

The last thing Keith wants to do is leave while James is so blatantly eyeing Shiro, but something in Regris’s tone makes it clear that it’s not really a question. 

“Sure,” Keith says, trying to force a smile on his face, as he follows Regris off to the side of the yard. 

“So,” Regris starts, rubbing his scaly hands together.

“So?” Keith echoes.

“Kinkade or Hunk are better at this than me,” he mumbles, “but they’re not galra. They probably don’t even see it.”

“See what?” Keith asks.

“Oh fuck, you don’t even know,” Regris groans, slapping a hand against his face.

“Don’t know what?” Keith says, darting his eyes back and forth from Regris to the guys.

“Fucking fuck,” Regris groans. “I need Kinkade. I don’t know how to do this, but I’m the only one who can do thi,s so I have to do this.”

“Do what?” Keith gets out, confusion mounting. Regris is talking in fucking riddles.

Regris clears his throat looking inexplicably nervous. “So uh…when a Galra comes of age—”

Keith’s entire mind blanks. Regris is not doing what he thinks he’s doing.

“I’ve had the sex talk, we really don’t need to do this,” Keith blurts, hoping to cut him off.

“This is not—no. I’m not giving you a sex talk, shit. Let me try this a different way,” Regris sighs, pinching the bridge of his nose as his bat-like ears flatten against his skull. Keith is so confused. “Lets just say I am not…good at feelings. When I first started to fall for Kinkade I didn’t even know what was happening until I caught myself purring all the time and trying to seek him out. It came to a head a few months ago when I punched a guy at a club who offered to buy him a drink.”

“Okay,” Keith says, still not quite following along. Not that he doesn’t appreciate Regris’s candidness, he’s just not sure why he’s doing it right now. 

“Galra are possessive when they find a mate,” Regris continues, widening his eyes at Keith in what is clearly supposed to mean _something_.

“Oh, Kinkade is your mate,” Keith says catching on. “That’s great. My parents are in an interspecies relationship, too.”

He’s told Regris this already, but he hopes the reminder might put Regris at ease and make it easier for him to say whatever it is that’s on his mind.

“Vhak Bik,” Regris curses. “That’s not what I meant. I mean…okay. Yeah I think he is my mate and maybe I haven’t got around to telling _him_ that yet but—”

“If you ever need some advice I can help,” Keith offers. “I mean, I’m kind of an expert on this you know, because of my parents. I grew up watching the way my parent’s bond manifested. My mom says it was a little bit of an adjustment since humans don’t have mates like Galra, but that she still knew.”

“Why is this so hard?”

“Feelings are hard,” Keith consoles. “But it’s cool you guys found each other.”

Regris looks like he might faint—a dark purple flush spreading down the side of his neck. He’s clearly flustered but he takes a deep breath and continues. “Keith, I know this is gonna be different for you, but there are things happening biologically that you should be aware—”

“ _Me_ ,” Keith interrupts, his own cheeks flushing as his mind immediately conjures an image of Shiro. “I don’t have a mate. I’m only half Galra, anyway—I don’t think I can.”

“Right, but—”

“Regris, get your ass back here,” Matt hollers, interrupting whatever it is Regris is trying to say.

Keith’s head whips around to Matt, his eyes drawn to the way the pledges are beginning to line up. Adrenaline floods through Keith’s veins. As bad as he feels physically, he’s also eager to have a chance at the obstacle course and maybe get a chance to impress some of the frat brothers—or well, Shiro. Yeah, he just wants to impress Shiro.

It’s a perfectly reasonable desire as far as Keith is concerned. Besides the showing off for Shiro, this is also his last chance before pledge week officially ends to show everyone exactly what he’s made of. While he knows a potential acceptance doesn’t rely on what happens right now, it still feels oddly important. 

“Shit, okay—this is fine,” Regris mumbles, though whether the words are for himself or Keith he’s not entirely sure. “We can talk after, yeah?”

“Sure,” Keith agrees, chomping at the bit to get back to the main event. 

“Okay, yeah,” Regris says, nodding to Keith before sprinting across the yard. 

Keith follows suit, jogging towards the group of pledges and making his way to the end of the line.

“Now, I know we’ve spent the last twenty minutes explaining the rules but sometimes you need more than rules. Sometimes you need a bit of a demonstration,” Matt says, waving his arms around like he’s the head of an orchestra. “Does anyone want to see your very own frat brother do this highly difficult course?”

The pledges yell their agreement, whooping and cheering.

“Gentleman, I need a volunte—” but before Matt can even finish, Shiro is striding forward from the line with a shit eating grin on his face.

“Well that was easy,” Matt laughs. “And entirely expected, actually.”

Unwilling to be stuck in the back unable to see, Keith abandons his position at the back and moves off to the side to watch as Shiro grins, tipping sideways to whisper something to Matt before jogging over to the starting line. Before he can begin the course, Matt starts spouting off a long list of rules again, reminding them all they’re not obligated to participate if they aren’t comfortable and not to expect to finish in the same time as Shiro. Keith is only half listening, eyes riveted to the way Shiro’s arms are stretched over his head as he arches his back. 

“Is everyone ready?” Matt yells.

“Just one sec,” Shiro says, and before anyone can say anything else Shiro is grabbing the hem of his tank top and tugging it off—an action which knocks his snapback off to the ground. He leaves the tank and hat on the grass, shaking his hair out and grinning as the pledges and brothers alike begin to cheer. 

All eyes are on Shiro, but he doesn’t wilt under the attention, if anything he shines.

There’s something breathtaking about looking at him right now—the sun glinting off his prosthetic and his white hair blowing in the wind. It’s partly because Shiro’s body is one of the most glorious examples of the human species Keith has ever seen—broad shoulders, full pecs and dusty rose colored nipples, a washboard stomach and an itty bitty waist that Keith itches to get his hands on. Then there are his muscled biceps and toned back and yeah, Shiro’s body is fucking insane. There’s no question he’s the hottest man alive.

It’s so much more than that though—it’s the air with which he carries himself. Keith thinks of the hardships Shiro’s confessed, of the bad days overcome and the way he smiles bright now because of them. His mind and body has scars, but he wears them with pride and every single one of them makes him more beautiful. 

There’s so much confidence in his body language and a lightness as he bounces on his feet and searches Keith out in the crowd. When their eyes lock, Shiro’s smile goes playful and he winks at Keith, mouthing _you watching, freshmint?_.

Keith’s insides burn—his stomach fluttering as he nods. It makes Shiro’s smile grow and as Matt and the other brothers lead the countdown, something in the air shifts. Not a person in the yard can take their eyes off Shiro as the count hits one and Shiro takes off across the yard. 

The coarse itself is impressive as fuck and Keith’s sure the guys must’ve been secretly working on this for weeks. Once Shiro reaches the furthest corner of the yard he grabs one of the baseball bats off the ground and plants it on the ground, dropping his forehead to the handle as he begins to spin. The air is charged with excitement as everyone counts along with Shiro. 

Keith is dizzy just watching and it’s clear Shiro is dizzy too because by the time he hits thirty he stumbles, righting himself quickly as he sprints to the slip n slide. This time it’s set up along the far back wall and as Shiro dives down onto the wet plastic, it becomes clear that it’s coated in soap. Shiro slides across the black plastic like a jet plane before rolling off the end into the grass and jumping up with an unexpected amount of grace.

His shorts are now soaked— the thin material clinging to his thighs and dick and tiny soap bubbles covering his stomach and nipples. Its enough to make Keith forget how to fucking breath. 

Without missing a beat, Shiro begins to hop back and forth between the massive wooden planks set up on opposite diagonals. Then he moves to the end, grabbing the nerf gun off the ground and running at the targets like some kind of fucking action hero. His precision is insane. Shiro lands a nerf dart in the center of every single cardboard stormtrooper—dropping the nerf gun to the ground and doing a forward roll. The roll is probably not actually part of the course, but it is an impressive display of Shiro’s agility.

He moves through the rest of the course just as easily—running across a long balance beam set up across the ping pong table and dining room table—doing another unnecessary but impressive forward flip off the end.

By the time he gets to the salmon ladder—an impressive fifteen foot replica from American Ninja Warrior which usually resides in the far corner where the frat brothers work out—Shiro’s worked up a sweat which makes his body shine in the mid afternoon sun. His impressive height means he grabs a hold of the bar off the bottom rung without even needing to jump—pulling his back legs up and bringing his arms to a ninety degree angle as he uses his body to dislodge the bar from the rung and move it upwards. As the bar rises, every muscle in Shiro’s body quivers but still not a sign of fatigue shows on his face. 

Keith is both wildly impressed and also really fucking turned on. He knew Shiro was fit, but he had no idea how agile he was. Someone that big shouldn’t be able to move with such fluidity and grace, and yet he does. By the time he’s reached the top of the salmon ladder and come back down, Keith’s heart is thundering in his chest and the cheers of the pledges and brothers have reached a deafening pitch.

Spurred on by the attention and accolades, Shiro moves on the final leg, dropping his body into a squat as he slides his big hands under the bottom of the tire laying in the grass. His bicep muscles popping, and his stomach clenching as he flips the hundred and ten pound monstrosity, like it weighs almost nothing. Over and over he repeats the action, until the tire resides at the base of the massive tree and Shiro’s wiping sweat from his brow like a Greek god.

“Finish it up, Shirogane!” Hunk shouts, earning a fresh wave of cheers.

Shiro nods, his chest heaving as he wipes the sweat from his hands on his ass and grabs the rope that hangs from the tree. 

Despite the physicality Keith just witnessed, he is somehow still shocked when Shiro climbs the rope like a fucking monkey— easily rising up until his upper half disappears beneath the leaves of the tree and the bell at the top is being rung. Then, because Shiro can’t just descend like a normal person, he comes halfway down before turning to make sure Keith is watching and does a god damn fucking back flip off the rope.

Takashi Shirogane is a massive fucking show off and Keith is so gone for him. 

Shiro strides across the lawn—the pledges and brothers alike hooting and hollering—as Shiro takes an exaggerated bow, before he snatches his tank and snapback off the grass. He leaves the tank top off, but he pops the snapback on backwards, tugging his fringe through the hole before moving back to stand by Hunk as the rest of the brothers offer pats on the back and fist bumps.

“Now don’t be disappointed if none of you can finish the course,” Matt yells loud enough to be heard over the chatter. “We can’t all be as strong as Shiro.”

At this Shiro crosses his arms over his chest and grins, accepting the compliment with ease. 

“Or as much of a fucking show off,” Matt adds, earning him the middle finger from Shiro and chorus of laughter, before Matt turns his attention back to the pledges. “Now get your asses back in line and show us what you’ve got.”

Everyone falls in line and Keith, much to his own disappointment, somehow ends up at the end again with James squarely at the front of the line. It’s probably a good thing since James is not being subtle about trying to get Shiro’s attention, as he too pulls his Shirt off in preparation and if Keith were next to him, he might do something he really shouldn’t. 

Unlike Shiro who made the course look easy, James does not. He’s capable enough at the first few tasks but once he gets to the salmon ladder he only makes it up two rungs before falling onto his ass on the soft mat below. Keith doesn’t laugh, because he’s not an asshole, but he smiles on the inside nonetheless. 

The next few pledges suffer much the same fate until Keith is starting to doubt whether anyone but Shiro could actually finish the course. One by one the pledges fall—each one unable to finish even half the course. Through it all Shiro and the other brothers cheer them all on, offering congratulatory pats on the back.

Keith doesn’t want a congratulatory pat on the back for trying, Keith wants to finish the entire damn course. He wants to ring that fucking bell and see the surprise on Shiro’s face. Suddenly the minor headache and soreness pales in comparison to this.

Keith is going to show Shiro exactly what he’s made of.

“Alright, Keith, you’ve got this” Shiro yells, giving him two encouraging thumbs up. 

It’s sweet as shit and Keith aches to impress him in ways he’s never cared about impressing anyone before. As if possessed by the spirit of someone far more fucking confident than he normally is, Keith locks eyes with Shiro and _winks_. 

The effect on Shiro is instantaneous—his eyes widening and a pale pink flush spreading across the bridge of his nose. Keith feels as if hes won the fucking lottery. If Shiro likes confidence, Keith’s going to show him confidence. 

_“Watch me”_ , Keith mouths, uncaring who is paying attention, so long as Shiro is.

The pink blush spreads down Shiro’s neck as he drops his hands down not so discreetly in front of his dick. Adrenaline floods Keith’s veins as he licks his lips and shoves his sleeves up to the elbow. 

He wasn’t a high school athlete for nothing, and Keith’s always been exceptionally strong for his size. As the pledges and brothers count down, Keith’s confidence rises. 

This is going to be _fun_.

When the countdown hits one, Keith shoots off across the yard with speed and finesse—grabbing the baseball bat and spinning—barely registering any dizziness as he finishes and takes off for the slip in slide. He overshoots a little, ending up doing a bit of a belly flop onto the plastic and sliding across it so fast he rolls off the end with more force than anticipated. He dimly registers a sharp stab of pain along his collarbone as he collides with a stick. It’s a fleeting pain and that fades quickly as Keith moves on to the next obstacle.

The cheers reach a deafening pitch as he gets to the top of the salmon ladder, his name falling from the lips of those around him.

It’s exhilarating and Keith’s determination grows. He doesn’t manage any fancy rolls or back flips like Shiro but he does make it all the way to the tire—so close to ringing the bell he can taste it.

There’s more cheering and yelling and Keith allows himself a few seconds to catch his breath as he turns to glance over his shoulder—elated to find Shiro slipping two fingers into his mouth and letting out a loud whistle before mouthing _you got this_. Exhaustion permeates Keith’s limbs, but Shiro’s faith in him gives him the extra boost he needs to finish.

Mustering every bit of his strength, Keith gets his hands under the tire and flips it. The cheers and whistling are so loud Keith can barely even think as he flips it over and over—letting out his own whoop as he makes it to the tree. Riding high on his accomplishment, Keith grabs the rope and climbs it easily, his right arm quivering with fatigue as he reaches out and rings the bell.

He did it. He fucking did it.

“Holy shit, Kogane,” someone yells — Regris he thinks, but he can’t be sure— as Keith hangs from the rope. 

He knows he’s supposed to climb back down, but suddenly his arms feel like jello and when he tries to hold on to the rope, his grip strength falters halfway down. It’s only ten feet or so but it’s definitely gonna smart when he hits the ground.

Except he doesn’t hit the ground—he hits something, or rather, _someone_.

“Easy there,” Shiro says a little breathlessly, the wind clearly knocked from him but his smile is still firmly in place.

“I’m good,” Keith mumbles, flustered by the very big and strong arms currently holding him up in a bridal style carry. “I’m good.”

“Fuck yeah you are,” Shiro agrees.

Keith blushes, overwhelmed at the reality of being cradled in Shiro’s big, strong arms and on the receiving end of his praise. It’s a lot, especially after what Keith just finished. There’s at least half a dozen things Keith wants to say to Shiro, but all of it is cut off by the pledges and other brothers swarming around them. 

With an impressive amount of ease and caution, Shiro lowers Keith’s feet to the ground. When Keith sways, Shiro is there again—a big hand resting at his lower back to steady him.

His chance to thank Shiro is cut off by the excitement of the brothers and pledges alike who each congratulate Keith on his impressive display with the obstacle course. The attention is thrilling, but none of it more than the look of pride on Shiro’s face, a look which quickly transforms into something else.

Before Keith has time to try and guess what the furrow of Shiro’s thick eyebrows mean, the other boy is pushing his way back through the crowd until he’s standing right in front of Keith.

“Hi.”

“Hi,” Keith echoes, tilting his head up towards Shiro. For some reason it makes his eyebrows knit closer together.

“Could you come with me for a minute?” Shiro asks.

“Sure,” Keith answers, curiosity piqued as he follows Shiro across the yard.

Shiro leads him up onto the porch and to the corner—semi secluded by the large ivy plant that climbs up the side of the house—but not so alone as to technically be breaking any of the rules.

“Stay here,” Shiro says, frown lines still in place.

“Um, okay,” Keith says, but the back door is already swinging on it’s hinge as Shiro runs inside. He returns a minute later with a small white box in one hand and a t-shirt in the other.

“You’re bleeding,” Shiro says, setting his stuff down on the railing.

“Am I?” Keith says, reaching up to pat his face.

“Yeah, didn’t think you’d want everyone else fussing,” Shiro tells him, patting the railing. Keith takes the hint and hops up, gripping the wood so he doesn’t tip backwards. 

“Thanks,” Keith mutters, his heart racing for entirely new reasons as Shiro steps between the spread of his legs. “And you know, thanks for before too, you know—catching me and all.”

“Your welcome,” Shiro says, propping up the plastic container to retrieve an antiseptic wipe. He rips it open, shaking the little folded wet wipe open then takes it up towards Keith’s neck along his hairline. Sure enough, when he swipes it over the skin it stings and Keith doesn’t even realize he’s winced until Shiro is apologizing.

“It’s fine, just surprised me is all,” Keith says, tilting his neck sideways to give Shiro better access. “Didn’t even realize I got a cut.”

“I gathered as much,” Shiro laughs, continuing to wipe the cut clean.

He’s methodical and slow in cleaning what is very obviously a _tiny_ cut, but Keith isn’t complaining. It gives him ample opportunity to simply stare at the rippled muscles in Shiro’s shoulders, to feel the warmth of his body so close to his own, and to appreciate how damn good Shiro always smells.

“Cuts small enough but I think you need a band-aid,” Shiro tells him with all the seriousness of a man telling someone else they’re about to need major surgery.

“If you say so,” Keith says, amused by Shiro’s intensity. 

“Cuts can be very serious,” Shiro continues, ripping open the bandage. 

Instead of just sticking it on the side of Keith’s head he tilts forward, his entire bare chest resting against Keith’s lower half as he drags his fingers through Keith’s hair and pulls it up to blow on the wound.

A shudder wracks Keith’s body and Shiro does it again, his lips so close to Keith’s neck he can almost imagine it’s a kiss. The cut has got to be dry by now, but Shiro does it a third time. It’s only the threat of having to see all the brothers and pledge class with a raging hard on that stops Keith’s dick from doing what it wants to do and plumping up. As it is, he’s definitely half hard—his nails digging into the wood grain as he fights making any embarrassing sounds, lest Shiro notice and then he’d have to flee the country. He’s rather starting to enjoy his life in California and it would be such a tragedy to have to cut it all short because of a raging libido and the weird throbbing in Keith’s head.

“You sure you’re alright?” Shiro asks, mistaking Keith’s second wince for something to do with his cut.

“Yeah, just a headache.”

“Pledging is intense, but it’s important to sleep too. I know it’s easier said than done. I wish I could tell you something, anything, but I can’t and I’m so sorry—”

“It’s okay, Shiro,” Keith says, unable to fight the urge to touch Shiro’s floof. He’s so close and it’s just his hair, it doesn’t quite feel like breaking any rules since Keith doesn’t mean anything by it.

Shiro makes a quiet noise, tipping his face up to Keith, lips forming a soft little _o_ of surprise as Keith twists the starlight white strands around his pointer finger, marveling and the softness. He doesn’t pull away and it’s enough for Keith. 

“Shiro.”

“Yeah, Keith?”

“Whatever happens when all this is over, bid or no bid, I want to see you after. I know you’re not technically allowed to say yes or anything yet but—”

“If I could say yes I would,” Shiro asserts, the warmth of his breath ghosting over the palm of Keith’s outstretched hand. “I’d say yes, Keith.”

“Oh, good,” Keith whispers. “That’s so good.”

Shiro looks almost shy, something sweet in the smile that begins to take shape on his face as he leans against Keith’s knee—the heat from his bare chest sending a shot of serotonin straight into Keith’s veins. It’s such a small touch but the skin to skin contact does something funny to Keith, and for a fleeting moment it’s almost as if his headache and fatigue disappears.

“Hands off the pledge, Shirogane,” Matt barks, interrupting the moment as he stomps up the wooden stairs.

Shiro rights himself quickly—the hair twisted around Keith’s finger falling away as Shiro takes a few steps back. Enough that the illusion of his own fatigue and headache return tenfold.

“Was just helping, Keith,” Shiro says, plastering what Keith can only guess is supposed to be an innocent look on his face. 

He’s a horrible liar and for some reason Keith finds that really sexy. Though at this point he’s pretty sure anything involving Shiro automatically becomes sexy, just because it’s him.

“Shiro was offering his services,” Keith blurts, hopping down off the railing. 

“I’m sure he was,” Matt snorts.

“Not like that, asshole,” Shiro laughs, flipping him off.

“I had a cut,” Keith says, reaching up to push his hair back as he turns his head. “Shiro was helping take care of it.”

Matt hums, waving his hand in the air. “You know what- I don’t even want to know. There are exactly four hours and twenty nine minutes until this day ends and pledging is officially over. Then I can start teasing both of you for being so disgustingly cute together, instead of being your babysitter.”

“We don’t need a babysitter,” Shiro says. “I would never break the rules.” 

“I know, my man. I know. I’m just giving you a hard time,” Matt tells him. “I did come over here for a reason though—the guys need your help, no one else can move the tire.”

“Oh, yeah sure,” Shiro says with a quick nod. He takes one step closer to Matt then turns, eyes on Keith. “I uh, brought you one of my shirts to change into since yours was wet. If you want it.”

“I want it,” Keith answers, snatching the shirt off the railing and fighting off the intense urge to bring it up to his nose and smell it to see if it smells like Shiro.

“Cool,” Shiro says, walking backwards so his eyes never stray from Keith.

“Cool,” Keith echoes.

“Holy fuck you two,” Matt laughs.

Shiro ducks his head and laughs, bottom lip pulled between his teeth as he spares one last look at Keith then jogs away down the back of the stairs.

It takes Keith a good few seconds to realize Matt is still standing there staring at him.

“He’s different with you,” Matt says unexpectedly.

“Huh?”

“Shiro, he’s—he likes you.”

“Oh,” Keith exhales, a dawning realization about what might be happening right now. “I like him too.”

“Yeah…yeah, you do don’t you,” Matt huffs, rubbing a hand across his jaw. “You know what’s funny? I was uh, coming up here fully prepared to give you a talk about hurting him or leading him on if you didn’t mean it, but I don’t think I need to do that.”

“I would never hurt him,” Keith says, the shirt clutched tightly in his hands.

“No, you wouldn’t,” Matt agrees. “This frat, the guys in it—we’re a family. We take care of each other, you know? Damn, I’m glad we had this conversation, Keith.”

Conversation seems like a bit of a reach since Matt did most of the talking, but Keith does feel like something important just happened between them, even if he’s not entirely sure what. 

“Right, I’m gonna see if the guys need any help. You good?”

“Yeah, I’m good,” Keith says.

Matt shoots him two thumbs up before jogging away, leaving Keith alone on the porch with nothing but his thoughts and Shiro’s t-shirt. Unable to resist any longer he lifts the shirt to his face and buries his nose in it, inhaling the familiar scent of Shiro. 

As the sounds from the guys in the yard laughing and joking filter up onto the porch, Keith hides his entire face in the soft cotton and breathes in slow and deep. Instead of relaxing him, it makes the throbbing in his head intensify. 

Keith’s never been happier so he doesn’t understand why something feels so wrong.


	3. Chapter 3

The following twenty four hours between the official end of pledging, and the formal initiation ceremony during which they find out if they’ve been accepted into Tau Phi Sigma Mu passes in a blur. Keith pops Advil and energy drinks like his life depends on it; bullshitting his way through two different papers he should’ve written two weeks ago. He works his way through eighty pages of reading (of which he absorbs absolutely fucking none) and contemplates going back to the health center because he feels so _off_. 

He doesn’t go because he’s sure the answer he gets will be the same. He doesn’t have a cough or congestion or even a fever—if anything he feels colder than normal, and ends up wearing two hoodies as he crashes into bed out of sorts and cranky. 

Keith ultimately chalks it all up to the anxiety of not knowing if he’s going to become a full fledged brother, combined with the stress of pledging. It’s been good- but a lot- and it makes sense that he’s feeling a little exhausted and burnt out. At least that’s what he tells himself.

“You’re just tired,” he says to his reflection, pulling on the only button down shirt he owns and wishing he had access to an iron. 

“You’re just stressed,” he repeats, his hands shaking as he loops his tie, wishing his dad was here to do it for him.

“You can do this,” he says to himself, running fingers through his hair in a futile attempt to tame the little cowlick in the back.

All of these things are true.

Keith is tired, and he is stressed and he can do this. His track record has shown he can pretty much handle anything. But if he can handle this, and the things he says to his reflection as he readies himself to head to Rebel Base are true; then he can’t quite understand why something still feels off.

The unease rises, clawing its way up Keith’s spine as he walks across campus and to the house that in a few short weeks somehow has started to feel like home.

By the time Keith gets there the rest of the pledges have already lined up, each of them waiting to find out if they will be thanked for pledging then turned away, or invited inside to start the initiation ceremony to become a brother. Keith joins the end of the line, shoving his hands into his pockets to hide the trembling.

 _Nerves_ , he tells himself. It’s just nerves.

One by one the line moves, most pledges receiving a handshake from Matt and some hearty farewells from the rest of the brothers lined up. A few join the ranks of the brothers, awaiting their turn to be initiated. 

The closer Keith gets to his turn, the more unsure he becomes if he can handle this. All the guys are laughing and smiling and Keith’s insides feel like someone put them in a blender. His heart is racing, something strange is fluttering in his chest and his stomach rolls. Then Shiro catches his eye, and the entire world stops for a moment.

Shiro’s dressed much like the other guys—crisp shorts, button up shirts and blazers and stupid boat shoes. Except while the other guys look kind of like idiots, Shiro looks like something out of a dream. His white linen shorts cling to the girth of his thick thighs, and his strong calves are on full display. Even his ankles look nice, which offends Keith as much as it interests him. He’s never seem a man that didn’t look stupid in boat shoes and he’s never once given more than a passing thought to anyone’s ankles. Then there’s his top half which shouldn’t work—a pastel pink button up shirt and a sky blue blazer.

It works.

It works _so hard_. Shiro looks like a goddamn fucking angel in pastels—his pale skin and beautiful white hair highlighted by the soft tones. There’s also the fact that Shiro’s shirt barely buttons. The top few buttons strain against the breadth of his massive chest and the blazer highlights just how wide his shoulders are compared to his tiny waist, cinched with a belt. 

Shiro is the hottest person he’s ever seen and Keith looks like a gremlin with his wrinkled shirt and poorly tied tie.

“ _Breathe, Keith_ ,” Shiro mouths, smiling in a way that makes Keith’s throat feel too small.

Keith offers him a smile, fighting the urge to run across the lawn and plant his face directly into Shiro’s chest. He knows Shiro is hot and he’s always half aroused when he’s in the other boy’s proximity, but the intensity is abnormal even for Keith who bites down on his bottom lip hard as he waits for his turn. 

Not even the sight of James not getting into the frat is enough to lighten Keith’s mood and by the time he’s approaching Matt, there’s a buzzing in his ears and something vibrating beneath his skin. 

Matt is talking but Keith can’t focus on anything except the distance between him and Shiro. He’s so close yet so far away.

“Keith, buddy, you can move,” Hunk says, coming closer.

 _Move_.

The bottom drops out of Keith’s stomach as he stumbles backward. He didn’t get in. He didn’t get in. He didn’t—

“This way,” Hunk laughs, a firm hand on his shoulder as Hunk guides him towards the line of pledges waiting to be initiated.

 _Oh_.

“Congratulations boys, welcome to Rebel Base—welcome home,” Matt says, followed by a round of clapping and cheering from the brothers.

Try as he might, Keith can barely pay attention to what is happening through the haze of disorientation he feels. They’re led inside where Matt recites the fraternity motto followed by— _something_. Keith knows he should be paying attention, that this initiation ceremony is a highly guarded secret. One spoken of in vague but reverent terms by all the brothers, but Keith can’t focus.

He got in. He’s a brother. He’s so happy he could scream. Except, if he’s so happy why does he feel like crying?

It’s not until Regris is pulling Keith aside that Keith even realizes the ceremony has ended. He can barely bask in the euphoria of actually being a brother because of the overwhelming sense of wrongness flooding his veins. 

“Keith,” Regris says, a big hand on his shoulder. Keith likes Regris, he likes him a lot, but the touch feels wrong somehow. 

“Fuck,” Regris curses. “Have you told Shiro?”

Keith blinks, trying very hard to focus on his words. “Told Shiro what?”

Regris’ large ears fly straight up as he glances behind them then turns his face back to Keith, leaning closer to whisper, “About what’s happening to you?”

“What’s happening to me,” Keith repeats very slowly, hoping it’ll make the words make more sense.

“Yes,” Regris nods. “The mate thing.”

Mate thing. 

_Mate thing_.

Suddenly Keith feels as if someone has flipped on all the lights. Shiro. The way Shiro makes him feel. The sleeplessness, the insatiable desire to fuck, the headaches, the body aches. His mom told him about this when he was still too embarrassed to even say the word sex out loud. Keith had assumed it didn’t apply to him, he’s only half Galra after all, and while he hasn’t exactly had a ton of dating experience he’s had some. He’s not a virgin either. Never once in his admittedly small but still valid dating or sexual history did he ever feel anything close a mate pull. 

“I’m only half Galra,” Keith says, feeling very small.

“Oh fuck, don’t panic, dude,” Regris says, looking decidedly uncomfortable. “I should go find Shiro so you can tell him and—”

“No,” Keith blurts. “I mean…just…let me,” he mumbles, mind racing. 

“Are you sure? You kind of look like shit and—”

“I’m sure,” Keith interrupts, Regris additions of how he looks does not making the notion of trying to have this conversation with Shiro any easier.

He feels like absolute shit—like someone a bus ran over, _twice_ , and now he knows why. It’s not because he’s been anxious or stressed or not sleeping enough. It’s because his Galra biology is revolting because Keith’s been ignoring the mate pull. 

In Keith’s defense, he didn’t know it was a mate pull. Sure he likes Shiro more than he’s ever liked anyone ever, and yeah he’s more attracted to him than he thought possible. Shiro makes him laugh and feel safe and, fuck—it seems so fucking obvious now. Every time Shiro was close, Keith itched to get closer.

When Shiro was near, the uncomfortable buzzing in his ears quieted.

It’s so much like the stories his mom told him growing up, about her own mate pull towards his dad that Keith doesn’t know whether he should laugh or cry. 

He knew the stories of his parent’s bonding by heart, but that’s all they were, stories. If he hadn’t been such a stubborn idiot and actually told one of his parents how not okay he felt every time they called, one of them might have helped him realize what was going on. Instead Keith’s spent the last month jerking off enough to make his dick raw and wondering what the fuck was wrong with him.

Turns out, the only thing wrong with him is that he’s an oblivious fucking idiot.

As a half Galra, Keith thought mate pulls were something he would never get to experience. He’d resolved himself to spending his entire life having to date like a human. He’d just assumed his lack of ever feeling anything close to this, when he dated before, was just proof of how not Galra he was. 

Turns out he was wrong.

Keith understands what he feels now— the itch to be close to Shiro, to scent him, to touch him, to be touched _by_ him. Everything in Keith aches for Shiro, his heart and his dick.

Shiro who is walking across the room right fucking now.

“Shiro, my man,” Regris grins, clapping him on the back. “We were just talking about you.”

“All good things, I hope?” Shiro grins.

The top three buttons on his shirt are undone now, blazer removed and sleeves rolled up his elbows. It makes Keith want to scream. 

Forearms. Chest. Collarbones. Smile.

“Right, I’m definitely leaving,” Regris mutters, shuffling away and leaving Keith and Shiro alone. Or alone adjacent—half the guys are still in the living room talking and the other half seem to have migrated to the kitchen where there are shouts of _lets make this a party_ and _someone order some fucking pizza_. 

He and Shiro are in the far corner, far enough away from everyone to afford them the illusion of privacy, but still surrounded by enough people that there’s not a chance in hell Keith’s going to attempt to have this conversation with him right now.

“You did it, freshmint,” Shiro grins. “Fuck, not telling you that I knew you were gonna get in was the hardest thing I’ve ever had to do.”

Keith swallows around the lump in his throat and nods along, only half able to follow Shiro’s words. His eyes keep focusing, returning to the line of Shiro’s throat—the urge to mouth at the pulse point there suddenly is so much more weighted now, that he realizes he’s not just being a horny bastard. If he focuses hard enough he almost swears he can see it flutter.

“I’m so happy you’re here, Keith,” Shiro says, opening his arms.

Without a single cognizant thought Keith launches himself forward, shoving his face into Shiro’s chest and wrapping his arms around him. He holds on tight, squeezing Shiro with far more force than is probably appropriate but he can’t care.

He’s touching Shiro, really touching him, and it feels so _right_.

Shiro huffs out a happy sound, metal fingers splayed wide at his lower back. It’s all Keith can do not to whine as he unabashedly turns his face so that his nose rubs against the exposed skin where Shiro’s shirt is unbuttoned. His flesh is so warm and the scent of body wash clings to his skin, strong enough to give him that fresh clean boy smell but light enough that the musky hint of something just Shiro still permeates his scent. 

Unbidden, a purr threatens to rumble out of his chest and Keith fights tooth and nail to silence the urge.

Not here, not in front of everyone.

“Hey, you okay?” Shiro asks, his hand still smoothing up and down Keith’s back in a manner so soothing he never wants to move.

Keith hums noncommittally, unable to lie to Shiro but also fully unable to give voice to how not okay he feels right now. His realization that what he’s suffering from is the ill effects of ignoring a mate pull isn’t a bad thing. If anything, it’s a relief to realize exactly what’s been going on and know that he’s not sick, he just needs to be touched by Shiro. 

Still, it’s not every fucking day you realize you’ve maybe possibly got a mate. He suddenly has an entirely new appreciation for his mother’s bravery when she met his dad, and how terrified of rejection she must have been. 

The prospect of finding a mate—someone your heart and body recognizes as your perfect match—is crazy enough. Having it happen with a human who won’t ever feel the same physical need to be close like you do, is a little scary. Kind of exciting and awe inspiring, but also just fucking scary. That fear is tampered by Shiro’s obvious affection for Keith, but it can’t take it all away. What Keith wants and needs is a lot more than the promise of a single date, and that might be too much for Shiro.

“Pledging is insane. Have you been sleeping?” Shiro asks—his hand sliding upwards so the tips of his fingers brush against the collar of Keith’s shirt.

“Not really,” Keith chokes out, at least able to answer a question this simple.

Shiro’s hand drops as he takes a step back and the physical pain Keith feels at the loss of contact is unbearable. He needs to tell him, but he doesn’t know how to get the words out.

“Right, come with me,” Shiro says.

Keith would follow him anywhere, so he does—trailing after Shiro as they weave their way through the guys still in the living room, towards the stairway that leads upstairs. Upstairs to the bedrooms of the brothers who live there, including Shiro. Upstairs to the bedrooms Keith’s not yet seen, because pledges weren’t allowed up here. But Keith’s not a pledge anymore he’s a brother, he’s one of them and fuck Shiro is taking him to his room.

His mind races as Shiro turns to give him a sweet smile, stopping at the third door on the left and twisting open the nob.

“Ta da,” Shiro grins, dramatically sweeping his arm out.

He’s such a dork and Keith loves it. He really does. He thinks he might even love Shiro which is— fuck. It’s big. It’s so big. 

“You look like you could really use a bed right now,” Shiro says as he steps into the room behind Keith.

The sound Keith makes at that is nothing short of a squeak. He thought he was doing pretty damn good hiding how much he ached to be touched, or how desperately he wants to have sex with Shiro. The idea that Shiro knows, that all he has to do is look at Keith and he can tell the way he’s gagging for it, is as embarrassing as it is hot and—

“I swear this bed was made for naps.”

Keith blinks, his brain slow to catch up to the actual words Shiro is saying.

“Naps,” he repeats.”

“Yeah, the mattress is nice and soft. And uh, I just washed the sheets yesterday so they’re pretty fresh you know. I mean if you want, I just thought maybe you could use a little break from downstairs. The celebration is going to be going on all night; you won’t miss anything.”

A nap. Shiro is trying to get him to take a nap. Shiro is trying to _take care_ of him. Somehow this is as affecting as the idea that Shiro wanted to fuck, maybe more so. 

“Shiro, I need to tell—”

“Shiro,” Matt yells, the sound of feet thundering down the hallway the only warning they get before Matt is crashing into Shiro’s room “Get your ass back downstairs, we need—oh, hi Keith.”

“Hi,” Keith mumbles, unsure why he feels like he’s about to get sent to the principals office. He’s a brother now, he’s allowed in Shiro’s room.

“Jesus christ, Shiro, you barely waited five minutes.”

“Fuck you. We weren’t doing anything,” Shiro snorts, playfully shoving Matt before his gaze leaves Matt and turns to Keith. “ _Yet._ ”

Heat floods Keith’s body at the cheeky confidence. Fuck Shiro is so hot. It’s really unfair that he can go from sweetly looking after Keith’s well being one second, to alluding to fucking the next. Keith’s heart, and dick, can’t keep up.

“Lucky for all of us what you two do and don’t do, is no longer any of my business,” Matt loudly proclaims. “Except right now because we need you downstairs, Shiro.”

“Why?” Shiro asks.

Matt clears his throat, rocking on his feet. “Lets just say it involves the robot I built, a bowl of pudding and—”

“I’m not sure I want to know the rest.”

“I mean, it could be worse and we definitely don’t need to call 911,” Matt says as if that makes things better.

“Fine, just give me a minute, yeah?”

“Sure, but don’t take too long or uh…we might have to call campus security. I mean, probably not but you never know.”

With that Matt disappears, leaving them alone once more, if only temporarily. 

“Sorry,” Shiro says. “Matt gets over excited on initiation day. Last year he made a rocket that set one of the telephone lines on fire.”

“Wow.”

“Yeah,” Shiro laughs. “But uh, I meant it before you can stay and rest a little. If you wanted?”

“I want,” Keith says, unsure he could face anyone else right now.

Shiro nods, but instead of leaving he starts to unbutton his shirt. Objectively Shiro isn’t even doing anything specific, he’s just undoing the fucking buttons. But his fingers are so big and thick and the buttons are so tiny and he handles each one with such finesse that Keith’s dick hardens with the pop of every button. Watching Shiro undress is like watching porn.

Completely unaware of Keith’s growing arousal, Shiro shrugs off the button up shirt, the muscles in his shoulders flexing. He folds the shirt in half, draping it over the back of his desk chair before yanking a hot pink tank top with their Greek letters on the front. _Their Greek letters_ , Keith thinks to himself, delirious with glee.

Like all of Shiro’s tanks, the sides are cut low enough that his sides are on full display. It also gives the more scandalous hint of the dark nipples that lay beneath the tank. Then as if Keith weren’t aroused enough, Shiro pops the buckle on his belt. Keith nearly shoots off in his jeans at the sight of Shiro tugging his belt out of the loops and shimmying his thighs out of his shorts and the tightest pair of itty bitty white boy short boxers known to man are revealed under them.

Now possessing the knowledge of what type of underwear Shiro likes, the emotional turbulence inside of Keith is silenced by his own raging thirst for Shiro.

“I’m a big boy, my thighs need room to breath,” he unabashedly offers as way of explanation, kicking off his hideous shoes before he tugs on a pair of obscenely thin sweats instead. This pair is black, instead of his usual grey, but are no less revealing in the way they cling to his thighs and dick. 

“Breath, right,” Keith mutters, pretty sure he’s barely breathing right now.

For all Shiro is a shameless flirt, he seems to genuinely have no idea that he’s nearly sending Keith into cardiac arrest merely by changing his clothes. He kind of likes that Shiro isn’t doing anything on purpose, that he’s comfortable changing around Keith and just being himself. It makes it all that much sexier somehow. 

When he’s finished dressing he slips on a pair of slides and then turns to smile at Keith. His hair’s a bit disheveled from the clothing change and there’s something more relaxed in his posture, now that he’s clearly in clothes he feels comfortable in. Formal Shiro was sexy as hell, but Keith likes this dressed down quiet version of him best.

“I guess I gotta go now,” Shiro says.

“I guess you do.”

“You know, if you wanted you could, uh…borrow some of my clothes. I know they’re gonna be too big on you, but you know, if you, uh, wanted a shirt or something to get more comfortable before you rest, you can.”

Shiro almost sounds flustered and the juxtaposition to his normal confidence is both endearing and sweet. Keith wants nothing more than to walk across the room and beg for another hug, but the guys downstairs need him. Keith can wait just a little bit longer. He’s waited four weeks to be allowed to touch Shiro, surely he can wait another hour more. Besides it’ll give him time to decide how the hell he’s supposed to tell Shiro that he’s pretty sure he’s his mate and that his Galra biology is screaming for physical contact so he knows that he is wanted.

“Just make yourself at home, yeah?” Shiro says, taking one step closer to the open door.

“Thanks, Shiro.”

He takes one more, then another until his body is halfway out the room. And then he does the last thing Keith expects, and stalks directly back into the room and straight for Keith.

“What are you—oh,” Keith whispers as Shiro’s big, warm hands come up to cup his face.

“Can I kiss you, please,” Shiro asks, thumb stroking down the side of Keith’s face.

“Fuck yes,” Keith says, jaw trembling as Shiro tilts his head back and brings their mouths together.

A whimper escapes Keith’s mouth at the contact. Shiro’s lips are so full and warm and fuck he is a good kisser—confident and gentle as his mouth moves against Keith’s. The slide of lips, Shiro’s little puffs of breath against his mouth and the sweet way Shiro’s entire body curls around his own.

Keith can feel the purr rattle in his chest, feels the rumble of the sound coming seconds become he makes it. It’s a primal, instinctual noise his body makes without his permission.

Shiro pulls out of the kiss, a question in his eyes. “Are you—”

“Shirogane, get your fucking ass downstairs or I’m sending Regris up to physically carry you downstairs,” Matt screeches.

“Fuck, sorry I—”

“Go,” Keith laughs, swatting Shiro playfully on the ass. 

“Right, going. But as soon as I can sneak away, I’m coming back to do that again.”

Warmth floods Keith’s cheeks as Shiro walks backward, blowing Keith a kiss then winking before taking off down the hallway at a run. Keith groans, closing the door then spinning in circles. He can hardly believe he’s in Shiro’s room after all those weeks of flirting and longing. Granted he’s alone in Shiro’s room so it’s not exactly the way Keith imagined before, but Keith can work with it.

Now that he’s alone he takes the time to really study Shiro’s space, taking in the perfectly made bed with the black comforter, the bookshelf carefully arranged with his collection of manga and star wars figurines. His desk area is easily the most tidy work area of any college boy Keith’s ever seen— textbooks arranged by subject and an impressive organizer filled with pencils, highlighters and no less than five different sizes and colors of post it notes. Behind the bed is a large black tapestry with a starlit sky, and a white silhouette of a mountain range. There’s also a coat rack in the corner with more snapbacks than Keith has ever seen in one place, at least one in every color.

Curious about the contents of Shiro’s closet, Keith moves forward. He tells himself he’s not really snooping since Shiro did tell him he could borrow a shirt. Like the rest of Shiro’s room the closet is impeccably organized—all the tanks to the left, a few shirts in the middle and a ton of sweatshirts on the right.

Keith bypasses the tank tops and shirts, too cold for any of those and goes directly for the hoodies. The sleeves, and the bottom portion have been cut off at least half of them. He shuffles through each one, amused that at least half of them are Star Wars or NASA hoodies. He eventually settles on one of the older looking ones—a faded logo of Kings Canyon on the front. Keith traces the logo, fingers dragging over the screen print of the giant sequoias. He’s never been himself but the forests remind him of camping. He wonders if Shiro got this sweatshirt himself or if it was a gift? Does Shiro like the woods? Does he like to camp? 

There is so much Keith doesn’t know about the other boy still, and like a book Keith longs to know him cover to cover, longs to re-read his pages until the spine is worn and the pages are bent and he knows the story by heart.

He wants to know Shiro’s story.

He wants to know if they will have their own story, one they make _together_.

Will Shiro feel excitement or panic at finding out about the mate pull? What will he think of the less human looking features hidden beneath Keith’s clothes, assuming he even wants Keith to take them off in the first place. Will he still want to date Keith when he realizes that there may never be another person for Keith—that Galra, and Keith especially, desire monogamy and commitment? 

The questions continue to pile up, threatening to suffocate Keith if he doesn’t find a way to shut his brain off while he waits for Shiro’s return. 

He decides that while he’s unlikely to actually sleep, the idea of laying down to rest is actually pretty nice, especially in Shiro’s bed. 

Unlike Shiro who undressed carefully, Keith does not. He yanks at his tie until he manages to get it off then, breathing a sigh of relief that his throat is finally free, he drops the offending garment on the floor. Then he removes his shirt— taking it off so quickly he the last button pops off and rolls across the floor. Keith’s not sure what to do with it once it’s off, and ends up allowing it to suffer the same wrinkled fate as his discarded tie on the floor.

He grabs Shiro’s hoodie off the end of the bed, pulling it on. It’s far too big, the sleeves hanging down over his hands and the bottom hitting him mid hip, which means as far as Keith’s concerned it’s perfect. He loves oversized hoodies, this one most of all. This isn’t just any too big sweatshirt, it’s _Shiro’s_.It even smells nice—a lingering hint of fabric softener and Shiro’s cologne. 

Warm and decidedly more comfortable, Keith kicks off his sneakers before making his way over to Shiro’s bed. He’s slow at first, just a knee on the edge mattress as he climbs on tentatively sitting on the middle of the bed. It’s strange to be in here, so surrounded by reminders of Shiro, but without him. 

The more he thinks about it, the stronger the ache in his chest becomes. His head is starting to throb again and the little bit of calmness he’d felt while Shiro kissed him is long gone, replaced by an uncomfortable ache—a longing to be touched.

A lump forms in his throat as he thinks about all the things his mother ever told him about mate pulls—all the things Keith was sure he wasn’t Galra enough to ever experience for himself. He feels them now and it’s a fucking lot.

Part of Keith wishes he’d just told Shiro before, but he knew he wouldn’t be able to get all the words out while worrying someone else needed Shiro, even if Keith feels like he needs him more.

Frustrated and feeling more than a little pathetic, Keith throws himself backward crashing down onto Shiro’s pillows with a soft thud. Immediately the scent of Shiro’s shampoo floods his nose and Keith groans, rolling onto his belly and shoving his face into the pillow to stifle a small scream. It doesn’t actually make Keith feel better, but he knows nothing but Shiro actually will. 

It’s only once he’s laying down that he realizes he’s still wearing his jeans. Keith fucking hates sleeping in jeans, and he spares only a few seconds worrying that it’s inappropriate to sleep in Shiro’s bed in nothing but his boxers and Shiro’s hoodie before undoing the zipper and aggressively kicking them off—an action which disrupts Shiro’s perfectly made bed. Keith grumbles, about to get up to fix it when a thought occurs to him— he could rest _under_ the covers.

Shiro didn’t actually say he could and Keith worries that, like stripping down to almost nothing, it might be too much, but once the idea takes shape he can’t shake it. He’s freezing, especially his now bare legs, and the idea of cocooning himself in Shiro’s bed is the most alluring prospect he’s ever had. Unable to resist, he tugs the blankets back and climbs inside. Still, something isn’t quite right and Keith grunts as he readjusts the mountains of pillows Shiro keeps on his bed and rearranges the multiple blankets and comforter. It’s not until he’s finished that Keith realizes exactly what he’s done.

A nest. 

He just made a fucking nest in Shiro’s bed.

It makes him want to cry. Keith remembers the first time he did this at a sleepover. He was nine years old and it was the first time he’d ever slept at someone else’s house. Nervous and unable to settle, he’d quietly raided the extra pillows and blankets his friend’s mom had left on the ouch, carefully arranging them into a safe little nest.

Then his friend had returned from the bathroom, taken one look at Keith’s nest and called him weird.

Keith had never let anyone see him make once since. Not his friends, not his exes. No one.

And now he’s gone and destroyed Shiro’s perfectly made bed— the blankets all untucked and hanging off the edge and the pillows rearranged. He didn’t even mean to do it—an unconscious stress response to feel comforted. Something Keith is painfully aware humans do not do.

He should fix it. He should remake the bed and just lay on top without disturbing it.

Except he can’t. The lure of a nest in Shiro’s bed is too strong to resist and Keith climbs into the center, the knot of tension around his heart loosening as he curls into a ball in the center, turning his face into the sheets and inhaling the scent of Shiro. This is safe and warm and Keith is suddenly so exhausted he can barely keep his eyes open. As the heaviness settles, Keith’s last thought is that he can fix the bed later before Shiro returns.

* * *

Warm. Keith is so warm.

Someone is holding him and playing with his hair and his entire body is relaxed. Keith hasn’t felt so good in fuck knows how long, and he floats on the high of whatever perfect dream he’s having. The sensation of fingers dragging lightly across his scalp and through his hair feels so real Keith actually purrs.

“Oh, you like this.”

It’s as if a bucket of ice water is dumped over Keith’s head as his eyes shoot open.

Not a dream. Not a fucking dream.

“Sorry, I didn’t mean to wake you,” Shiro says, so close Keith can see flecks of gold around his irises. 

Words. Keith needs words but he has none—panic building, as bile rises in the back of his throat. Shiro is here in his fucking nest. The nest he didn’t clean up yet or ask for permission to make. Shiro is probably confused or weirded out and Keith is fucking frozen in place, terrified to say the wrong thing.

Mistaking his silence, Shiro pulls his hand out of Keith’s hair and scoots back—disentangling his legs from where they were entwined with Keith’s.

“I’m sorry, I thought— I should have waited until you were awake,” Shiro says, sitting up. “Just... you were shivering.”

The panic increases, but this time it’s at the idea of Shiro moving away from him. It’s all wrong. He shouldn’t be moving away when all Keith wants is for him to be as close as humanly possible. 

Keith shoots his hand out, wrapping his fingers around Shiro’s wrist.

“Stay,” he whispers.

“Okay,” Shiro breathes, his movements slow as he drops down on his elbow and scoots closer. “Is this okay?”

Keith nods, his heart beating so fast he’s a bit breathless. All he wants is Shiro close but now that he is the reality of the situation feels insurmountable. He doesn’t know how to get the words _I think you’re my mate_ out. He knows he needs to— Shiro deserves to know, and Keith wants him to. If this isn’t going to be something Shiro wants, if it’s too much, or too strange then Keith needs to know before he lets himself fall so far there will be no return.

There are a million and one ways Keith could broach the subject, but somehow what he ends up saying is, “Sorry about your bed.”

“I don’t mind,” Shiro says easily.

“It’s a _nest_ ,” Keith huffs, needing Shiro to know.

“Yeah, it is,” Shiro agrees, as if finding your bed turned into a Galra nest with a boy asleep in the middle isn’t weird as fuck.

“A nest,” Keith repeats, needing to be sure Shiro understands the gravity of what’s happening. 

“Yeah, Keith. I know. I’ve uh, seen Regris do this back when he first got together with Kinkade. Also during finals. And, well some other times that aren’t my place to talk about. It’s a comfort thing, right? It uh…it makes you feel safe?”

Somehow the idea that Shiro might be familiar with this aspect of behavior only seen in the Galra had never once occurred to Keith. He could kick himself for not realizing that of course Shiro would know a bit about it, he’s been friends and lived with Regris for the last few years. Maybe talking about the mate pull won’t be as shocking or scary as it currently feels. Then again, there’s a world of difference between Shiro having peripheral awareness of Galra behavior and finding out that a half Galra has identified him as a mate.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees quietly. “I should have asked first.”

“Keith, I don’t mind,” Shiro says, tentatively reaching out to brush away a stray strand of hair. His warm fingertips grazing over his forehead, pushing the hair off his face sends a rush of longing through Keith. This—Shiro’s touch—is what has been missing. Weeks of feeling closer to Shiro than any person he’s ever met, but being unable to _touch_ had thrown Keith’s Galra half completely out of whack. There’s no more hair in his face but Shiro repeats the action, his fingers smoothing over his forehead before pushing further and dragging across his scalp.

Unbidden, a purr rumbles out of Keith’s chest. There’s no stopping the noise as it grows louder and there’s no mistaking that Shiro is listening. 

Before Keith can try to think of some way to explain it away, Shiro is inching his face closer, his nose bumping up against Keith’s as he whispers, “You purr.”

“Yes,” Keith agrees, swallowing down his instinctual urge to deny it. This is just Shiro, he’s not going to tease Keith or treat him like some kind of fascinating case study or call him _interesting_.

“ _Wow_ ,” Shiro whispers.

There’s something in his voice, something that sounds very much like awe, that makes Keith’s jaw tremble. 

“You don’t uh…think it’s weird?”

“Nothing about you could ever be weird,” Shiro tells him.

“You say that now, but you don’t know.”

“What don’t I know, Keith?” Shiro asks, his big hand cupping the side of Keith’s face as his thumb strokes over his temple. He’s so fucking close, his breath ghosting across Keith’s lips as he stares directly at Keith. It feels as if he can see into Keith’s soul like this and Keith feels stripped bare and exposed. 

It would be so easy to brush the question off, to just let himself have Shiro’s touch now and deal with the messy, hard conversations later. But it’s not what Keith wants, or what he needs. He wants Shiro’s touch, but he _needs_ it to mean something. If it doesn’t, if that’s not what Shiro wants, then Keith will step away now and pick up the pieces of his heart, and try to figure out how to be just friends. He will do anything so long as it means he gets to have Shiro in his life, but he can’t do that unless he knows exactly where they stand.

“So, uh…what do you know about mate pulls?” Keith asks, bypassing the lead up and just cutting directly to the point.

Shiro’s eyes widen, and Keith’s eyes take in the shift in his breathing and the subtle shift in the way he holds his body. There’s surprise there and something else, but what Keith’s not entirely sure, yet. Shiro’s tongue darts out, swiping over the swell of his bottom lip as his hand slides down Keith’s head and settles at the back of his neck.

“Not a lot,” Shiro answers a few seconds later. “There’s stuff I kind of guessed, watching Regris and Kinkade dance around each other. But those are just assumptions. Regris and I are close but I mean you’ve met him, you know how private he is and how bad at feelings too. I know he struggled with some stuff before he and Kinkade finally got together, some headaches and concentration issues, but he never talked about it. And Kinkade would never share anything Regris wasn’t comfortable talking about. I know after they got together Regris was happier than I’ve ever seen him—more himself somehow, if that makes sense.”

“It makes sense,” Keith says, realizing he’s going to have to explain it _all_.

“Growing up, my mom used to talk about the mate pull—about how she knew my dad was the only one for her. The way she tells it, she knew the second she met him but she tried to ignore it, wanted to become friends first so he could get to know her. I think she was terrified of scaring him away. Back then, human and Galra relationships were— _uncommon_.”

Keith clears his throat, trying to figure out how to say everything he wants to say in as few words as possible.

“My mom used to try and tell me what signs to look for when I started to date, but I don’t think I paid enough attention,” Keith huffs out. “It is…hard being half Galra. My parents were amazing, literally the best you could ask for. But they weren’t like me; no one was. I was the only half Galra, the first.”

“That must have been lonely,” Shiro says, twisting a bit of the long hair at Keith’s neck around his finger. It makes Keith want to cry. Of course Shiro understands. Of fucking course he does.

“Yeah,” Keith whispers. “I mean I had my parents, and sometimes I had friends but I wasn’t good at really letting people get too close. I tried a few times but…turns out being half alien is kind of a novelty to a lot of people. Especially, when it comes to sex.”

“ _Keith_.”

Shame and embarrassment well up in Keith and he hates it. He fucking hates it. He knows there’s nothing wrong with the way he looks, but he hates that assholes in his past planted seeds of doubt about his body. 

“It’s stupid. They were assholes.”

“Do you want to talk about it? Or should I just call them assholes too, in solidarity?” Shiro asks.

The question catches Keith off guard. “I mean, both? Maybe?”

“Fucking asshole dicks,” Shiro curses and Keith laughs, hiding half his face in his pillow.

“Shit, you’re cute,” Shiro says and Keith pauses, half his face still hidden in the pillow as he turns to look at Shiro. 

It’s really fucking weird for Keith to _want_ to share the most traumatizing and shame filled moments of his life with Shiro, but he does. He really fucking does.

“When I, uh, lost my virginity the guy, um—” Keith pauses finding it harder than he expected to get the words out. “He just wanted to be able to say he’d fucked an alien. And the next guy well, let’s just say he wasn’t happy to realize that the most Galra looking parts of me are hidden under my clothes.”

“You,” Shiro starts, pausing to surge forward and plant a searing kiss on Keith’s lips, “are fucking perfect.”

Unable to form actual words, Keith can do no more than blink at Shiro, his entire body tingling from the brief contact and the taste of Shiro lingering on his lips. Keith wants him so much.

“You…you’re—,” Keith splutters, unable to stop the words as they fall out, messy and unrehearsed. “I’ve felt so bad for weeks and I didn’t understand why because I’ve never been so happy. I love the frat and the guys and….and—” he pauses, barely able to stop the words _I love you_ from slipping out, deciding to slam his lips against Shiro instead.

There’s a soft little noise of surprise as Keith tips Shiro onto his back, climbing on top of him and kissing him with everything he’s got.

Shiro’s hands slide up the sides of Keith’s legs, over the curve of his hips and up higher sliding beneath the hem of the hoodie until Shiro’s big, strong hands are on his hips steadying him. It’s all Keith can do not scream as the purring starts again, ratcheting up to a pitch Keith’s never heard before.

“You,” Keith gasps out between kisses, “You are so—”

“What?” Shiro asks, mouth opening for Keith. “What am I?”

“My mate,” Keith chokes out, hands shaking as he fists them into the pillow and crashes his lips down against Shiro’s, his heart beating so fast he can barely breathe. 

Mate. Shiro is his mate. He never thought he’d get this, never knew he could find someone who made him feel so comfortable, just being himself. He hardly knows what he wants to do with himself, feels nearly insane with the way he wants to kiss and touch—the way he wants every inch of his body pressed against Shiro’s. Maybe its the mate pull, or maybe it’s just being horny as fuck for his best friend who he’s so fucking in love with. And maybe it doesn’t matter what it is. 

The one thing Keith knows for sure is that he wants more. He _needs_ more.

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, sending a rush of pleasure through Keith so deep the only thing louder than his purring is the little whimper he makes.

“Sorry, was that too much?” Shiro asks, so goddamn considerate.

“I just called you my mate, literally nothing you do could be too much,” Keith says, peppering kisses on Shiro’s face as he struggles to steady his breathing.

“Oh good, because I’ve been holding back calling you baby for weeks. You have no idea how hard it was to not accidentally say it.”

“Say it again,” Keith urges. “Please.”

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, his voice low and sweet.

The name washes over Keith like a blanket, his nerve endings lit up with pleasure.

“Again,” Keith begs.

“Baby,” Shiro murmurs—his left hand straying from Keith’s hip and moving to his lower back, rubbing circles at the base of his spine in a way that has Keith arching into the touch. “My pretty baby.”

“Shiro,” Keith whimpers, the pounding in his head overshadowed by the pounding of his heart.

“I’m right here,” he tries to assure Keith, but it only makes his heart beat all the faster.

“It’s so much. I just—oh my god, you’re my mate. This is so much,” Keith laughs, feeling a little hysterical as he realizes what this all might seem like to Shiro who didn’t grow up knowing the significance of a mate pull, or what Galra need. Hell, Keith grew up knowing it and it still feels insane. “Oh fuck, I’m probably freaking you out.”

“Breathe, baby,” Shiro soothes, his hand soothing its way up the curve of Keith’s spine. “I’m not even a little freaked out, okay? I can’t pretend to know how it feels for you, but I know how it feels for me.”

“How does it feel for you?” Keith asks.

“Like my heart is walking around outside of my chest?” Shiro exhales. “That first day I was out of my mind. All I knew was you were the single most gorgeous boy I’d ever laid eyes on and I needed to meet you. I uh…I maybe kind of possibly stepped into your path that first day hoping you’d walk into me.”

“Wait, you what?” Keith says, staring down at Shiro who suddenly looks more shy than Keith has ever seen.

“I just thought you’d kind of bump into me and I could say hi. I didn’t mean for you to fall down,” he mumbles.

“You were trying to meet me,” Keith clarifies, lightheaded by the idea.

“I mean, yes,” Shiro laughs, his cheeks a little pink but his smile wide. “Have you seen you. So fucking beautiful. Didn’t know you’d be so incredible too. I kind of hit the jackpot falling for you.”

Shiro’s smile remains in place as he reaches up, twisting a bit of hair around his finger and the thundering of Keith’s heart increases. The hair slips from around Shiro’s finger as he moves his hand down lower. Once again it slips beneath the hem of the hoodie but this time Shiro slides it upwards—Keith belly quivering as the fingers dance their way higher to settle above his heart.

“It’s so fast,” Shiro observes, tone almost reverent as if he can hardly believe it.

“Galra have higher resting heart rates but also…yes,” Keith says, pretty sure all the blood in his body is currently going straight for his dick.

“Can I listen?”

“Can you—yes,” Keith exhales, afraid to breathe wrong and ruin whatever the fuck is happening.

“It would be easier without the sweatshirt,” Shiro tells him.

“Is the heartbeat listening a ploy to get me naked,” Keith teases. He means it as a joke but Shiro answers with complete seriousness.

“Baby, if I wanted you naked, I’d ask.”

“Oh,” Keith mumbles, his ears heating as insecurity floods him. Maybe Shiro’s not ready to see his more Galra parts yet.”

“Right- that came out wrong,” Shiro tsks, squeezing Keith’s hip with his flesh hand. “I mean, jesus Keith, of course I want you naked. Uh…I was trying to be a gentleman and take things slow. Treat you right. Show you what good boyfriend material I am.”

This time Keith doesn’t think all the blood goes to his dick, he knows it—his dick is rock hard as he blinks down at Shiro.

Shiro wants Keith. He wants to date him, wants to fuck him—wants to treat him right.

“Fuck slow,” Keith exclaims, yanking the hoodie off and throwing it onto the floor with abandon. 

It’s only once it’s off that he realizes how exposed he is— straddling Shiro’s waist in nothing but his boxers, his dick clearly hard and the pale lavender stripes that criss cross a good majority of his body are now on full display. There’s no going back now and Keith pulls his bottom lip into his mouth, worrying it between his teeth as he waits for Shiro’s reaction. 

He expects kindness, it is Shiro after all. Somehow he’s not expecting the lust in Shiro’s eyes or the way his pupils dilate. He’s definitely not expecting the unmistakable hardness that he feels beneath him as Shiro’s erection grows.

“Look at you,” Shiro exhales, skimming his fingertips across Keith’s collarbone and down the swirling stripe that curls around his ribcage. 

It’s always been hard for Keith to balance the intense pride he feels about his mixed heritage with the way the people so often treated him like an oddity or some kind of fetish. When Keith looked at his mom with her beautiful stripes and sharp features he thought she was the prettiest mom in the whole world. Those same stripes looked different on Keith—everything about him was different. The older he got the more aware he became that there was no one else who looked quite like him. Too Galra to look human but far too human looking to seem Galra. 

It was harder still when Keith thought about the people who had seen him naked, or almost naked—kids at sleepovers, boyfriends, the guys on the team—people Keith had trusted. People who had looked at Keith and clearly didn’t see Keith the way he saw himself.

People looked at him but it always felt as if they were trying to make sense of what they saw, trying to figure out what box to fit him in. Shiro isn’t doing that. If anything he’s looking at Keith like he’s afraid to look away—as if he’s memorizing him. As if Keith is something _special_ and he has no fucking idea how to handle it.

“You’re so beautiful,” Shiro murmurs as both of his hands skim over Keith’s trembling belly. 

A press of fingers, the slow exhalation of breath as Shiro’s hands move down over his boxers and find purchase on his thighs, and Keith forgets how to breathe. There’s no mistaking the reverence with which Shiro’s hands move over his body, touching every bit of striped skin the same way he touches the unmarked flash. As if every inch of him is equal. 

Outside of his own family, Keith never thought he’d find a person alive who he could feel comfortable being himself without trying. He got so used to feeling more human around other humans and more Galra around other Galra. Right now Keith doesn’t feel just half Galra, or half human— he doesn’t feel half of anything.

He feels whole— he feels like _Keith_.

The kind of happiness and acceptance his mom found with his dad, had always felt like a fairy tale and Keith had long ago resolved himself to never experiencing anything quite like it. Then he met Shiro and everything changed. Everything.

“Baby,” Shiro whispers, giving his thighs a soft squeeze, “are you okay?”

Keith nods, feeling a lightness in his chest as he returns his attention from his wandering thoughts and back to Shiro.

“I’m happy,” Keith offers quietly, stroking his fingers over the soft cotton of Shiro’s tank top as his brain attempts to catch up with his heart and make sense of it all. 

“Yeah, Keith. Me too,” Shiro grins, his smile so boyish and sweet that Keith’s heart feels too big for his chest. He didn’t know you could like another person _this much_.

“Did you, um…still want to listen?” Keith asks.

“Yes,” Shiro says sitting up, giving Keith literally zero warning before Shiro’s hands are on his hips and the world spins as Keith’s lifted up and off Shiro’s lap like he weighs nothing.

“Strong,” Keith chokes out. “You’re strong.” 

“Damn right I am,” Shiro laughs, situating Keith in his lap once more. 

His surety is a little cocky and a lot sexy, and Keith is still trying to make sense of why every single thing Shiro does is the hottest thing ever, when Shiro leans forward to press his ear against Keith’s chest and Keith is once again left questioning everything. The only time Keith can recall anyone ever listening to his heart was at doctors appointments, and he can’t say he has ever given a second thought to the action. He’s giving it thoughts now.

Shiro’s ear is pressed snug against his chest, his arms wrapped around Keith and holding him close as he listens—listens to _Keith’s heart_. The heart that is currently racing for Shiro. The heart that feels too big in his chest, for Shiro. 

He doesn’t say anything, his body still as he focuses all of his attention on Keith who has never had a living soul focus on him like this. It’s overwhelming as fuck to be the center of such intense focus, and Keith can do nothing but bite back a moan as he begins to purr again—apparently really into being listened to, if its by Shiro.

“Oh,” Shiro breathes, turning his cheek to press a kiss to the center of Keith’s chest. “That purr for me, baby?”

“Yes,” Keith whispers, surprised at the little quiver in his own voice when he speaks.

“Wow,” Shiro marvels.

The unmistakable awe in his voice has Keith’s entire body flushing. He’s so used to stamping down his body’s natural inclination to purr when happy around humans, he forgot how good it felt to let it out. How relaxed it makes him feel to be able to really let it out.

“Fuck, baby, that’s so hot.”

“The purring?” Keith asks.

“Fuck, yes. Just knowing you feel good with me? That you’re letting me hear? So hot.”

The warmth in Keith’s body spreads, his dick throbbing and reminding him of how very hard and very neglected it is as he wiggles a bit in Shiro’s lap.

“That’s hot too,” Shiro says. “You hard for me, baby?”

“Jesus Christ, your mouth,” Keith groans, covering his face with his hands.

“Should I stop?” he asks.

“Don’t you fucking dare,” Keith mumbles from behind his hands, so hard he’s half afraid he’s going to come just sitting in Shiro’s lap.

“You’re so hard and I haven’t even done anything yet,” Shiro says, skimming the pads of his fingers down Keith’s side.

“Fuck,” Keith whimpers, rock hard and desperate.

“I really, really wanna touch you,” Shiro tells him, the fingers at his sides slipping down lower, dangerously close to his waistband. Keith nearly comes, fighting back a moan as the tip of one flesh fingers skims over his waistband and dips below the elastic.

“Shiro,” Keith whines.

“Yeah, baby. Tell me what you want? I’ll give it to you.”

Keith huffs out a breath, heart racing as drops the hands from his face to look Shiro in the eyes. “Everything. I want everything.”

The reaction from Shiro is so swift he has no time to prepare for the world spinning as Shiro switches their positions—his back hitting the bed and Shiro hanging over him. 

“I wanna make you feel so good, Keith. I wanna ruin you for anyone ever again.”

“You already have,” Keith says, the air between them charged as he reaches up to wrap his fingers around the back of Shiro’s neck and pull him down for a kiss.

This time it’s Shiro who lets out a whimper, his hips rolling down against Keith’s in a slow grind as he slips his tongue into Keith’s mouth. The friction is like heaven and without an ounce of hesitation Keith’s legs spread wider, hips arching up to match the rocking of Shiro’s hips.

The wider Keith spreads his legs, the filthier the kiss gets, Shiro’s tongue dragging over Keith’s bottom lip before he sucks on it hard.

Keith isn’t even sure what the fuck kind of sounds he’s making anymore, the purring in his chest still audible over his own moans as Shiro’s hand slips down between their bodies—a moment of hesitation as he pulls out of the kiss to look down at Keith. His lips are kiss-swollen and shiny, his eyes blown wide with lust and his hair already in disarray; but his smile is sweet as his finger skims over Keith’s clothed dick and he whispers, “Can I?”

Keith swallows, nodding. “It’s um…it doesn’t look like your dick.”

“I mean, to be fair I am substantially above average in the dick department,” Shiro says seriously enough, that the nervousness Keith feels pales in comparison to his amusement.

“You have a big fucking head,” Keith laughs.

“Damn right I do, baby. Really big,” he says, wiggling his hips enough that his dick rubs against Keith’s hip.

“I didn’t mean that head,” Keith snorts, barking out a laugh at the way Shiro waggles a thick eyebrow at him. It’s so stupid but also so cute and it’s really unfair that being this cocky and ridiculous also makes him hotter.

Clearly pleased with himself, Shiro rolls his hips down again. “Everything about me is big.”

“Oh my god,” Keith huffs, his laughter turning into a moan as Shiro ruts down once more, his hand trapped between their bodies and curled snug against Keith’s dick. 

“Fuck, fuck, why aren’t we naked?” Keith groans.

“Ask and you shall receive,” Shiro smirks, sitting up and yanking his tank top off. Keith is absolutely positive he will never get over the fact that Shiro’s body is real. So big and broad with so many muscles, plush pecs, and such a small fucking waist. This close Keith also gets an up close and personal view of his treasure trail— thick and dark and a stark contrast to the pale starlight white hair on his head.

Itching to touch, Keith reaches out and lets his nails drag through the dark hair, grinning when Shiro shudders.

“Looks like I’m not the only one gagging for it,” Keith grins.

“Yeah, I’m not even gonna pretend I’m not horny as fuck and desperate for you, baby.”

Somehow hearing him say it loud makes Keith’s dick weep, literally—a wet spot forming on the front of his plain cotton boxers.

“You like knowing that, sweetheart? You like knowing I’m gagging for it, how bad I want to choke on your dick?”

“The fuck, Shiro, you can’t just say stuff like that.”

“Why?” Shiro grins, rising onto his knees and teasingly pushing his sweats down. “I like dick. I like it in my mouth, in my ass, in my—”

“Holy fuck,” Keith moans.

Shiro laughs, the smug fucker, rising up to stand—towering over Keith as he pushes his sweats and boxers down, his dick bobbing as it's freed. His dick which is really fucking big, the foreskin retracted and the slit glistening with precome. He also clearly keeps himself neat and clean which comes as no surprise, if he thinks about it. Considering how he always looks freshly shaved and smells like he just stepped out of the shower. 

As Shiro kicks off his sweats, his dick shakes and all Keith can do is think of the stack of porn hidden under his mattress back home and how Shiro’s dick is so much better. He should’ve known even Shiro’s dick would be pretty like the rest of him. Somehow it makes an unexpected bit of insecurity rise in Keith. He’s not small, but he’s not as big as Shiro and his dick sure as fuck doesn’t look like that.

With a laugh Shiro drops back down to his knees, the bed shaking as he reaches for Keith’s boxers. He looks as excited as a kid in a candy store, and suddenly the idea of what lies hidden beneath his boxers being a disappointment occurs to Keith—the idea taking root as the Shiro curls his fingers beneath the waistband.

What if Shiro expects his dick to look less alien? Or more? Keith’s seen his fair share of human and Galra porn and his own dick can’t compare to either. Unable to look at Shiro’s face as he takes the boxers off, Keith slams his eyes shut so he won’t see the potential disappointment.

Stripped naked, Keith feels exposed all over again and he squeezes his eyes shut so tight white spots pop up behind his eyelids.

“Oh god, baby. Can I suck it? Please?”

Keith opens his eyes so quick the white spots linger as he lifts his head to stare at Shiro who is eying Keith’s weird ass dick like it’s a fucking five course meal. Like maybe, it's not so weird.

“Are you begging to suck my dick?” Keith asks incredulously. He’s had guys beg him for a blow job before but never the other way around.

“Fuck yes I am,” Shiro says without an ounce of shame. “Look at it.”

Keith rises onto his elbows and looks at his dick, trying to see it the way Shiro is. It’s human enough in the most basic shape—a long shaft which juts out, but that’s where the similarities end. Unlike Shiro, Keith has no foreskin and his shaft is a dark lavender like the stripes on his hips. There are small but noticeable ridges around the entire thing and his slit is leaking a bioluminescent come, which drips down the shaft. Keith had learned the hard way that unlike human boys, who might leak a drop or two, the closer Keith gets to his orgasm the more the come drips. Judging by the wetness coming out, Keith is close.

He’s also acutely aware that the while his treasure trail starts off black near his belly button—like the hair on his head—the closer it gets to his dick the more purple it gets, the actual base of his dick is surrounded by thick purple curls. Unlike Shiro whose dick is very well landscaped, Keith’s dick looks like something out of an alien forest—other worldly and hairy. And that’s not even taking into consideration his fucking balls. Keith learned early on that having your balls snug up against the base of your dick without a scrotum is strange enough for humans, having them be bumpy and basically glow because of his fucking come, is something else entirely.

All of it is apparently something that Shiro is into though, because he’s scooting down the bed and biting his lip as he waits for permission, looking eager as a fucking puppy waiting for his food. Keith’s never seen anyone look so desperate to suck dick and it makes his head swim and his dick leak—something he should probably explain before Shiro accidentally gets a mouthful and chokes. 

“Um, yes but um it might be, well—messy. I kind of come like a lot, not just when I um—orgasm.”

Shiro looks delighted, pushing the hair back off his face. “I like messy.”

“You’re going to kill me,” Keith groans, straining his neck further as Shiro settles between his legs and opens his mouth, tongue darting out to lick at his balls.

“Oh, they’re warm,” Shiro observes, licking a second time and confirming Keith’s suspicions that he might in fact die. Cause of death: ball licking.

Keith shoves his fist in his mouth to keep from screaming.

Keith might not be a virgin but he’s also nineteen and his sexual history includes teenage boys who possessed as little experience as him. Shiro is neither a teenage boy nor inexperienced, a fact made obvious by the way he moves on from sucking Keith’s balls to sucking his dick like he was born to do it.

The only sound that comes out of Keith is a high pitched moan as his dick pulsates in Shiro’s mouth.

Shiro is sucking and slurping and bobbing his head, copious amounts of come dripping out of his mouth and down the shaft. Shiro greedily tries to drink it all down, taking Keith’s dick so far down the tip hits the back of Shiro’s throat and Shiro’s nose settles into the thick patch of purple curls. Then, as if itching to get even closer, Shiro reaches out to Keith’s legs, hefting them up onto his shoulders. He buries his face into Keith’s hairy dick and moans around it.

Keith tries to support the weight of his body but Shiro shakes his head, rubbing his nose against the curls as he presses his hands into the sides of Keith’s legs. It doesn’t take a genius to figure out what Shiro wants, so Keith lets the weight of his legs fall heavy on Shiro’s shoulders, squeezing his legs so Shiro is smashed between them. If Shiro wants to choke on dick and be crushed by his thighs, who is Keith to deny him.

The hum of satisfaction as rumbles out of Shiro’s chest, the vibrations against his dick making Keith crazy.

He’s so close, too close—he wants to last but he can’t. He tries to warn Shiro by fisting his hand in Shiro’s bangs and giving a tug. It’s meant to urge him to pull back so he doesn’t get caught off guard but all that happens is Shiro moans. Keith is left a trembling mess as he comes hard and fast—so much come drips out of Shiro’s mouth as he sucks greedily trying to swallow it all down.

It’s all Keith can do to remember how to breathe, pretty sure Shiro might have sucked his soul out of his dick. 

“Holy fuck, Shiro,” Keith gasps, struggling to catch his breath.

Shiro’s grin is self satisfied, and he locks eyes with Keith as he uses his flesh thumb to collect the come from his chin and lips, then pops the thumb into his mouth and sucks.

“Nnggh,” Keith groans, flopping back onto the pillow.

“Taste good,” Shiro tells him, swiping his tongue out to lick the remaining come off his lips.

“Fuck,” Keith grunts, his legs actually trembling. “I didn’t mean to come so soon.”

“I never understood why coming fast was bad. From where I’m standing it’s a huge ego boost to be honest.”

“I’m not sure your ego needs boosting,” Keith points out.

“I spent a lot of my youth not being sure of my own worth, I don’t see the point in pretending I don’t know it now,” Shiro says. 

It’s hard to imagine the bright, beautiful guy in front of him ever being less than confident, but then Keith knows first hand what it’s like to doubt your own worth sometimes. Shiro’s confidence is hard earned and sexy as hell and he deserves to know how incredible he is.

“Well between you and me, that was the best blow job of my life.”

Shiro’s chest fills with air as it puffs up, a pleased smile spreading across his face. Keith doesn’t point out that he’s only had two blow jobs ever. Shiro’s one hundred times better and Keith doesn't need anyone else to suck his balls or dick to know that Shiro is clearly the best at it. 

“Thank you,” Shiro says, taking the compliment easily as he crawls forward, crowding over Keith. He braces his hands on the pillow on either side of his head as he bends down, not so much kissing Keith as just letting their lips touch.

“Hi,” Keith whispers, suddenly shy.

“Hey, baby.”

“Oh god,” Keith whimpers, bottom lip rubbing against Shiro’s.

“You like that?” Shiro asks.

Keith hums his agreement, arching his neck up to try and turn the lip touching into a more purposeful kiss which Shiro obliges. Scooting his knees up against Keith’s side and encircling the top of Keith’s head with his folded arms as their lips glide together—a slow exchange of breath as their touch kiss deepens. It’s heaven to Keith’s frayed sensory system, exactly the kind of tactile affection his Galra half desires. 

Sex is good, but this is just as amazing— his mouth being laid worship too in the most tender way. He stops trying to hold back, letting out every little whimper and sigh as he tilts his chin up for more. Shiro seems happy to oblige, continuing to kiss Keith as if his life depends on it. He’s distantly aware of Shiro’s substantial erection, but the more pressing contact is the way Shiro’s big hands are cradling his head—thumbs smoothing across his forehead and along his temples with every kiss. He’s surrounded by Shiro’s girth, by his scent, but most importantly by his tenderness. He’s clearly aroused, and Keith has yet to even touch him, but he’s not rutting against Keith or angling to get his own dick sucked. His sole care seems to be reducing Keith to a fucking puddle as he kisses him.

Kissing is the one place Keith thought he was at least mildly experienced. He might have stopped letting other guys see his dick in high school after a few disastrous encounters, but it didn’t mean he was adverse to some making out behind the gym.The idea that Keith ever thought any of those guys were good kissers is laughable now. Shiro puts every single guy that’s ever kissed him to shame. Shiro is a fucking master of kissing—his lips so warm and plush, his movements confident but gentle. He doesn’t take, he gives, and Keith is ruined.

“Keith,” Shiro breathes between kisses, his tone reverent and sweet.

“Shiro,” he echoes breathlessly. 

“Keith,” Shiro murmurs again, the kiss slowing into something languid and toe curling.

His mouth falls open on a moan as Shiro’s fingers dig into scalp and like a switch flipped, the desire in Keith surges. 

“More. Want more,” Keith groans, not bothering to think about how it might sound.

“Didn’t you just— _oh_ ,” Shiro gasps, peeking between their bodies and down at Keith’s renewed erection. He is completely hard again, and already dripping. He shifts, resting his weight on his right elbow as his flesh hand snakes between their bodies and curls it around Keith’s dick. He’s not exactly small but then Shiro’s hands are fucking huge, and the glimpse of that massive hand wrapped around him—little bits of come squirting out the top and over his fingers when Shiro gives it a firm stroke makes Keith keen. 

“You’re hard again,” Shiro marvels, giving it another stroke.

“Yeah,” Keith gasps, rocking his hips up into Shiro’s touch. “Galra have very fast refractory period.”

“You’re incredible,” Shiro says, swiping his thumb over the leaking slit.

Keith shakes his head, hair sticking to his sweaty forehead. “Just Keith.”

“Well, just Keith, this just Shiro thinks you’re the most amazing person alive.”

The words make Keith blush, more than when Shiro’s face was in his crotch or with him just holding Keith’s dick in his hand like a fucking trophy. It’s embarrassing how weak Keith is for a bit of praise. He only hopes Shiro doesn’t notice.

Shiro notices.

“Does that make you blush, sweetheart, knowing how incredible I think you are? So smart, so athletic, so sexy.”

Keith all but wheezes, just barely resisting the urge to slam his eyes shut to stave off the heat flooding his body. 

“You know what else you are?” Shiro asks, palm sliding up and down Keith’s dick achingly slow.

“What?” Keith chokes out.

“ _Mine_.”

The word is like a shot of serotonin directly into Keith’s brain. The last few weeks of longing, of touch deprivation, of _wanting_ all come down to this moment. Keith is wanted—all of him. He is Shiro’s and Shiro is his and everything feels so good. 

“Yes,” Keith nods, gripping Shiro’s thigh. “And you’re mine.”

“Yeah, baby,” Shiro smiles, looking far sweeter than any man should be able to look. “I’m yours.”

Before Keith can realize what’s happening he trills, a sound unlike any he’s ever made before.

“Um,” Keith blushes.

“What’s it mean?” Shiro asks, his eyes so wide and hopeful.

“Happy…it means I’m happy,” Keith whispers.

The look that takes shape on Shiro’s face at the confession is one Keith knows he will never forget—so full of awe and affection—that Keith is undone. It’s a look that will be burned into his heart forever, a look that fills Keith with absolutely no doubt about what he means to Shiro.

Keith is apparently very turned on by feelings and he is so hard he aches, even if he just came ten minutes ago.

“I like you so much,” Keith tells him, scooting his hand from Shiro’s thigh towards his dick, “but also I’m going to need you to make me come right now or I might actually die.”

Shiro barks out a laugh, grinning as he sits back and lets Keith’s dick fall out of his grasp. Before Keith can bemoan the loss of contact, Shiro’s coating his own dick in Keith’s come, giving it a faint opalescent glow. Then he does the most glorious thing ever and guides their dicks together, wrapping his hand around them both and stroking.

A hand around his dick is good—a hand and another dick is fucking glorious.

With every stroke Keith’s arousal builds, a frankly obscene amount of come leaking out of his dick in a near constant stream. Keith’s a master of jerking off, not stranger to his own come, but he’s never this wet. A flicker of insecurity filters through Keith’s brain, but it’s immediately obliterated by the guttural moan Shiro makes.

“Jesus,” Shiro groans, pausing strokes to gather it all up, using it to lubricate his strokes and sending shock waves of pleasure through Keith’s entire body. 

The idea that Shiro isn’t just okay with Keith’s more Galra parts, but genuinely turned on by them only makes Keith wetter and it’s all he can do not to hold off his orgasm—his own hands finding purchase on any and every inch of Shiro’s body he can reach as he writhes beneath Shiro. 

It’s not long before Keith’s wet enough that Shiro loses his grip more than once. Rather than be disheartened Shiro merely wraps his other hand around their dicks too, locking his fingers and encircling both of their dicks in his massive grip. The second hand takes Keith’s pleasure from a ten to an eleven as Keith’s dick is completely surrounded—snug up against Shiro’s firmness as they fuck into the circle of Shiro’s hands. 

There’s so much to look at—Shiro’s eyes blown wide and his mouth hanging open, the rapid rise and fall of his chest and the quiver in his belly as his hips rock. The sight of their joined dicks sliding in and out of Shiro’s grip and Keith hardly knows where to focus his attention. Every single inch of Shiro is worthy of a worshipful gaze but Keith only has two eyes and he can’t look at all of him even if he wishes he could.

In the end he settles for Shiro’s face, delighted by how expressive Shiro is, and how unrestrained his pleasure is. He’s not shy about how noisy he is being either, making so many grunts and moans that Keith’s purring is barely audible over Shiro’s obvious enjoyment of what they’re doing. It’s a huge boost to Keith’s ego, watching his arousal as Shiro comes undone from _touching him_.

“Feels so good,” Keith manages to get out, really fucking proud of himself for stringing three words together. His incredible act of linguistics is rewarded by Shiro’s hips stuttering as he moans so loud, Keith can feel the vibrations of it in his own body.

“Fuck, do you get off on making me feel good?” Keith gasps, his entire body thrumming with pleasure. 

He’s so fucking close and this time he’s desperate to take Shiro with him.

“Yes,” Shiro nods, his hair falling into his eyes as he screws his face up in another moan he’s clearly trying to fight off in order to talk. “I wanna make you feel so good, baby.”

As if to prove his point, he gives their dicks a firm but gentle squeeze on every upstroke, slowing his movements just enough to circle his thumb around Keith’s weeping cockhead.

“Well you’re doing fucking fantastic,” Keith laughs nearly hysterical with arousal. “Ten out of ten, best fuck of my life.”

The praise makes the tips of Shiro’s adorably large ears deepen to a dark red and Keith files away the knowledge that a bit of praise, while naked can make Shiro—the king of flirting—a little flustered. It makes Keith long to see if he can really make him blush—wants to wreck Shiro the same way Shiro is wrecking him. 

Never in his life did Keith imagine himself bold enough for dirty talk, but the opportunity is too good to pass up. If Shiro likes to make Keith feel good, then he deserves to know how fucking spectacular he’s making him feel. 

Mustering up all his courage Keith whispers, “Your big hands feel so good. You’re making me so wet.”

The words rip a sound from Shiro that Keith wasn’t aware humans could make—something guttural and primal as he stiffens—thick stripes of white painting Keith’s stomach as Shiro comes all over him.

“Fuck,” Keith grits out, his nerve endings lit up like the fucking fourth of July. “Fucking, fuck, fuck.”

Shiro’s come is warm and sticky and the sight of Shiro when he comes—mouth open in a pretty O, his cheeks flushed an attractive pink and his hair clinging to the light sheen of sweat on his forehead—is enough that Keith comes again. Shiro’s eyes widen at the sight and he collapses on top of Keith with a groan, crashing their lips together and rutting his hips against Keith’s as he whimpers.

Keith isn’t much better, purring and groaning as Shiro’s kisses turn sloppy. It’s pure bliss for Keith who's drunk on post coital hormones, and on the verge of over-stimulation.

“So good,” Shiro whispers, his voice sweet as honey as he nuzzles his nose against Keith’s. “Fuck, Keith.”

“Mmmm,” Keith hums, rubbing his own nose into Shiro’s cheek and inhaling the comforting scent of sex and something innately Shiro. 

“Let me clean you up, baby,” Shiro says.

Keith hums again, eyes falling shut as he stretches out his legs and curls his toes. The bed dips as Shiro leans over him followed by the sound of the end table drawer being pulled open. A second later something cold and wet is being dragged over his stomach and Keith cracks an eye open to find out what.

“Baby wipes,” Shiro says as if reading his mind. “Who knew they were not just for actual babies, huh?”

“I used to keep a towel in my room, since it can be so messy,” Keith tells him, surprised at how easy it is to share this kind of detail with Shiro. “Not much privacy in college though so showers are easier.”

“Oh, you uh… you’ve been having a lot of shower sex,” Shiro says, clearly trying to sound casual. He fails miserably.

“Yeah, me and my right hand are basically married,” Keith grins, opening the other eye so he can watch Shiro’s reaction.

Sure enough the other boy blushes but grins. “Oh.”

“Why, you jealous?” Keith asks.

“Yes,” Shiro answers, surprising Keith once again with his honesty. “I mean whatever you did before doesn’t matter or change anything between us, but uh…I’m kind of big on monogamy.”

“Me too,” Keith replies, opening his legs wider as Shiro scoots down to clean there too. “Both the uh, human half of me and the Galra half. I’m not saying you have to make any promises or whatever. I know this is a lot but—the mate pull, it…it only happens once,” he whispers.

Shiro’s strokes are slow as he drags the wipe up the crease where Keith’s thigh meets his hip. He’s slow to respond, but clearly thinking about something and Keith waits patiently, watching as Shiro discards the wipe and grabs another one. It’s not until they’re both clean that Shiro finally speaks.

“I’ve never felt like this before,” he tells Keith, curling up along his side. “I don’t want to fuck it up.”

“You don’t wanna fuck it up? I don’t wanna fuck it up!”

“Oh good, then we both definitely don’t want to fuck it up,” Shiro laughs, sliding his left arm under the pillow and settling his right one over the jut of Keith’s hip.

“Yeah,” Keith agrees.

“You are so important to me, Keith. I don’t—,” he pauses, worrying his bottom lip between his teeth before he pushes on. “I know those words might not be enough but—”

“It’s enough,” Keith interrupts.

“I’m not saying I don’t want to make you promises, but…I think actions mean more than words. I’d rather _show_ you.”

“Yeah?” Keith whispers, surprised at the effect those words have on him.

“Yeah,” Shiro agrees, giving Keith’s hip a playful little squeeze. “Maybe, if I’m lucky, you’ll keep me around.”

“I don’t know, you’re an awful lot of trouble.”

Shiro laughs so hard he snorts, shaking his head fondly. “What am I gonna do with you, baby?”

“Keep me around I suppose,” Keith laughs, inching closer and closer until his leg slides between Shiro’s and their faces are only a few inches apart. The heavy weight of Shiro’s arm across his waist and his warm body snug against Keith’s reignites the purring which had finally stopped.

“You keep doing that,” Shiro observes.

“Oh uh, yeah…sorry.”

“Never, ever apologize,” Shiro says with so much conviction it takes Keith’s breath away.

“Okay,” Keith breathes.

“Good,” Shiro smiles, tiptoeing his fingers up Keith’s spine, only stopping when he reaches the back of Keith’s neck where he begins to play with the longer hairs there. “Also, there’s uh…something else I need to tell you. I’ve been keeping a secret.”

A tendril of worry blossoms in Keith’s chest but he manages to keep the smile on his face in place.

“What is it?”

“So we unexpectedly have an empty room this year and, well—it’s pretty unusual to have a freshman in the house, but since we’re liquor free technically it is allowed. The guys and I have been talking about this one guy, and how if he accepted his invitation to join the frat that we all know he would be the perfect fit to move in.”

The concern in Keith morphs into no small amount of shock as the reality of what he’s pretty certain Shiro means settles around him. 

“It’s—” but what it is, he never gets to finish because there’s a half a knock on the door and then the door is swinging open.

Keith jerks around quickly, surprised to see Hunk standing in the doorway holding a can of ginger ale and a bottle of advil. The only consolation in the entire mortifying experience is that Hunk looks as shocked as Keith feels. Much as Keith likes Hunk, the only person he wants to see him naked is Shiro, but the blankets all got knocked to the floor while they fucked leaving Keith with very little options.

“What’s up, Hunk?” Shiro asks, rolling over and on top of Keith to shield him from view. It leaves Shiro’s entire ass on display, and Keith’s heart thunders in his chest at the swift and obvious concern Shiro shows for Keith’s privacy without a care for his own. Words are not enough to express the depth of affection Keith holds for this beautiful, wonderful, ridiculous human.

“Oh wow, uh—shit. I uh, was just coming to try and do something to help Keith feel better but it looks like you beat me to it.”

The absurdity of the situation strikes Keith as he bursts into laughter beneath Shiro.

Shiro tips his head down to look at Keith, his own laugh bubbling out. “Yup, that was all me.”

“Oh my god you two are going to be like this forever aren’t you,” Hunk snorts. “This is both the best thing I’ve ever seen, and the worst. I’m so happy for you guys but also holy shit you two it’s been an hour oh my god.”

“Thank you,” Shiro grins, managing to take the words as a compliment. 

It sets Keith off on another wave of laughter which sets Shiro off, which makes Hunk smile but roll his eyes. “Yeah, I’m definitely just…going to go. I’ll just leave this stuff on the floor in case you need it.”

“Thanks, Hunk.”

“No problem,” Hunk says, averting his gaze as he sets the stuff on the floor and then slowly backs out of the room, shutting the door on his way out.

“Well that could have been worse,” Shiro says, remaining firmly on top of Keith. “But also, sorry about that. It uh…probably isn’t gonna endear you to the idea of moving in here. There’s definite no privacy when you live here, and it’s noisy as shit. Honestly it’s okay if you want to say no, none of the guys will take it personally and you’re no less a brother if you decide to stay in the dorms and it won’t change anything between us.”

Shiro’s concern is sweet as hell, but entirely unnecessary. The lack of privacy is a small price to pay for the prospect of being able to live here with his friends and Shiro—of feeling at home.

“Are you fucking kidding? Of course I want to live here. When can I move in? Which one will be my room?”

“You seriously want to move in?” Shiro asks, almost as if he can hardly believe it.

“Fuck yes I do,” Keith answers.

“You sure?” Shiro asks. “This is your choice, baby.”

“I’ve never been more sure of anything in my entire life.”

Shiro’s delight at his answer is clear—a smile so pure spreading across Shiro’s face it takes his breath away. Keith barely has time to try and make sense of what it means to be the cause of another person's happiness, when Shiro drops his weight, enveloping Keith in a hug that floods his sensory system with dopamine.

“I’m so happy, baby,” Shiro says, the words uttered sweetly against the side of Keith’s head. 

Unbidden, the memory of what professor Ulaz had told him about opening himself up to the possibility of friendships comes to mind. Ulaz had been right, his relationship with Shiro and the rest of his brothers had come when he least expected it, but there was more than that to it. 

He hadn’t just found Shiro, or friends, at Tau Phi Sigma Mu; he’d found himself too.

Overwhelmed in the best way possible, Keith wraps his arms and legs around Shiro and returns the embrace with equal intensity—face shoved into the side of Shiro’s neck as he’s enveloped in a kind of contentment he hasn’t known since he left home.

“I’m happy too.”

**Author's Note:**

> Come scream about Shieth with me on [Twitter](https://twitter.com/goldentruth813)


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